


Baked (Scars)

by Nagiru



Category: Bleach
Genre: (is it considered slow-burn when the story is only 20k words long?), (though in the end it is a human bakery au that happens to have soulmates), Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Kisuke owns a bakery, M/M, Marks appear on each other soulmate, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Some Humor, can be considered a pre-slash story, slight angst, so don't get your hopes up for much romance, some other characters are mentioned and/or appear once or twice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 03:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagiru/pseuds/Nagiru
Summary: One day, Ichigo stumbles upon a bakery and finds more than he ever wished for.He's not sure he agrees with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EVIA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EVIA/gifts).



> So, this story began from a conversation between Lyvia (EVIA) and I. I was planning on writing another UraIchi that just so happened to be a complete angst fest, and Lyv prohibited me. Instead, she prompted me to write a "domestic fluffy AU" with "baker!Kisuke and costumer!Ichigo" and I added my own two cents and made it a soulmate au, because I've never written one before. So... somehow I read "fluffy domestic story" as "mutual pining with pre-slash at most". Sorry not sorry, Lyv.
> 
> Like I mentioned, this is my first attempt at a soulmate au, and I ended up writing a story that just so _happened_ to have soulmates in it, because I either focus the story entirely in it ("It isn't in my blood") or I don't give a fuck to it. Yay.
> 
> So. Fluffy-ish UraIchi. Let me know how you find it. I... find it easier to write angsty UraIchi, I decided. Eh.  
> For warnings, this one is pretty tame, and we only have improper language and slash relationships, yay. (Both male and female, btw. Though the Soi-Fon/Yoruichi is only just mentioned)
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Bleach and its characters do not belong to me. I write only for fun, thanks.
> 
> (Also, I don't think I've ever explained it properly in the story...  
> So, the soulmate thingy added here is a "every mark in my body will appear in my soulmate's body, be it a scar or ink". People have developed a make-up that does not bleed through, but that's it. Tattoos still do, pen ink still do, body paint still does... yeah.  
> Ah, also, the one receiving the bleeding through doesn't feel the pain from the scars. They just feel a slight itch when it appears)

**Chapter 1**

Kisuke hummed cheerfully in time with the song sounding quietly in the blissful silence, kneading the dough under his hands. There was half an hour yet for the bakery to open, and the shop was just as he enjoyed it; quiet, empty, and with the strong scent of sugar and cinnamon permeating the air. The only way to make it better would be if Tessai-san were sitting in the corner, doing his crosswords.

Kisuke smiled quietly, shaking his head at the thought. His friend deserved the holidays; really, it was just a shame he’d managed to fall two days into it. Still… Kisuke would appreciate his company, help not-withstanding.

His phone started beeping, and he turned, patting the counter in search of it, watching with detached amusement as fingerprints of flour were left over the marble. The sound was gritting on his nerves, though, and he just _couldn’t find it_.

He turned his head, frowning down, and finding a right mess of pans and pots splayed all over the flat surface, and a distinct lack of mobile phone anywhere. Well, then.

He turned completely, abandoning his cookie dough to grow, and tried to listen for the beeping. “Where is that?” He grumbled, patting his hands more or less clean on his apron as he walked slowly around the kitchen. If he focused enough, the sound seemed almost…

“Ah.” He stopped, looking out through the glass door that connected kitchen to shop, and blinked slowly as he found it laying harmlessly on the _cashier_ counter, blaring away and managing to be louder than his song, despite the fact it was on a whole different room. “How did you even _get_ there?”

Pushing the door open with a shoulder, he finished cleaning his hands before reaching for the mobile. On the screen was displayed a disproportionate picture of a fat cat, staring him down, and he grinned.

“Yoruichi-san! Why, how’s England treating you?” He leaned over the counter, glancing back reflexively even though he knew the kitchen was empty and there was no stove left burning. “Last I heard, you were attempting to start an international situation. Dare I ask if you were successful?”

A familiar laughter came cheerfully from the speaker, and Kisuke’s heart wrenched in painful longing at the sound of it. “ _Hello, Kisuke-chan. I’m fine, thanks, though I am not in England anymore. Right now, I’m doing a gig in France — a small thing, this time, don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll manage to be banished from yet another company, as you’d say.”_

He was snorting before he could help himself, belatedly slapping a hand over his mouth to smother the sound. “If you say so, Yoruichi-san.” He tried for airy non-concomitance. From Yoruichi-san’s answering huff, he’d bet he fell far from it. “So. Has something happened?”

_“Why? Can’t I just call because I miss you, Kisuke-chan?”_ Yoruichi-san’s voice lilted teasingly, and he could imagine the grin on her face perfectly. _“It’s been such a long time! I’m not used to not seeing you for so long, dear.”_

He hummed, arching an eyebrow silently even if he knew she couldn’t see it.

_“Okay, okay. So, guess what?”_ She continued excitedly, not a minute later, and he smiled, resting his chin on his free fist. When she made an impatient sound, he offered her an encouraging hum, so she’d know he was still there and hadn’t run off at the mention of yet _another_ ‘news’. _“I met my soulmate!”_

“Wait, what?” He blurted out, flinching back and slipping from his fist. He managed to scramble for a hold just in time to prevent his chin from having a painful encounter with the counter. _Ow._ In exchange, though, his elbow tingled in agony from the way he’d hit it on the wall at his back. “Congratulations!” He added, sticking his phone between shoulder and cheek so he could massage at his aching nerves.

_“Thanks,”_ Yoruichi-san answered much more warmly, voice for once falling from the teasing tone and brimming with care instead. _“She’s a model, just like me, so it was quite the meeting, too. Apparently, I was an inspiration for her. It was just so **cute**. Also, since we automatically share any ink, and there tends to be **much** inking related with modeling, our agencies got in touch last night so we can work something out, maybe.”_

Again, his heart clenched painfully in his chest — and he refused to think about the reasons why, except. “So, are you moving in with her? Is she a cute French woman, then?”

_“Silly,”_ Yoruichi-san chided. _“Even if we were moving together — which I’m not saying we are; nor am I saying we aren’t, actually… — I’d never abandon you.”_ He laughed, feeling raw and see-through, a hand creeping up to hide his eyes even if there was no one here to watch it. _“You’re my best friend, aren’t you? And I need to see your bakery up and running. What did you name it, again? Something ridiculous, I remember…”_

“Urahara Shoten,” he provided with a grin.

_“Of course. Urahara Shoten.”_ She laughed again. _“Only you would be so damn pragmatic about naming your keepsake.”_

He laughed silently, breathing easier once again. He grabbed the phone in his hands again, and looked up to watch the streets even as he heard Yoruichi-san prattle on in the background, telling him more of her soulmate (who was _not_ a French woman, apparently, but a Chinese one), and about her latest stunt (and she hadn’t lied. It did _not_ end with her banned from her latest modeling company, it turns out. But mostly because of her soulmate. Kisuke supposed he could forgive her, after all).

When he heard Yoruichi-san yawning, though, he realized it must be nearing 11 pm for her, and as much as Yoruichi-san liked to pretend she was always alert, he knew first-handedly how much sleep she actually needed, so he cut her short before she could fall into yet another tangent.

And, anyway, it wasn’t even a lie. “Yoruichi-san, I need to finish up preparations. I’m already quite late with opening the bakery.”

Yoruichi-san’s response was slower, her voice heavier as it came through. _“Of course. Sorry, Kisuke-chan. I’ll call you again later this week, okay?”_

He hummed an agreement, shouldering the kitchen door open once again, making a beeline for the resting dough. “Of course, Yoruichi-san. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

_“Goodbye, dear.”_

The line went silent as Yoruichi-san cut their call short, and Kisuke smiled, putting the phone down in one of the counters even as he started splaying the dough to be cut. “Goodbye, Yoruichi-san,” he murmured to the empty room, a song melody engulfing his words before anyone could dare hope to hear them.

**.**

By midday, Kisuke already missed the peace of early morning _dearly_.

“Welcome to Urahara Shoten,” He smiled, cheeks hurting from forcing it out again and again and _again_. “What can I do for you today?”

The man before him hummed distractedly, and Kisuke withheld a sigh. This was going to be yet another customer who didn’t know what he wanted and would hold the line _forever_. Again.

As he waited, he glanced around, and took a peek at his display; the Cheese Tart was dwindling faster than he’d expected, but then, he hadn’t had the chance to make his Pizza Bread Roll, today, so people tended to choose the second favorite savory pastry instead, at this time of the day. The Creamy Citrus Tart also seemed to be at its end… and, ah, the Pecan Cookies.

He looked up again. The man was still mumbling to himself, and the people in line behind him were shuffling annoyed, and this was the best opportunity he’d get for a long time, it seemed.

“Excuse me.” He bowed slightly. “Please, think about what you want. I will be back with you in a moment.”

While others seemed to startle slightly, the man before him only waved a hand dismissively. Kisuke withheld another sigh, fingers twitching to do _something_ — something he’d regret, most likely. So, he turned around, and pushed the door to the kitchen open and stepped inside with as much dignity as he could while his nerves kept telling him he was just _running, the coward_.

Once he was inside, and hidden from view beside one of his many counters, he finally groaned, thumping his head by the wall.

“Fucking hell,” He massaged at his temple. “I don’t understand how Tessai-san can make this sound so _easy_.”

He took the moment of solitude to relax a little, shoulders falling and a heavy exhale leaving his lips. He loved his bakery with all his heart, but he _hated_ juggling two things at the same time. He’d never hired anyone, since he was more than enough to care for the whole kitchen, and Tessai-san was more than enough to care for the shop itself, but maybe…

Well. Maybe it was time to start searching, after all. Not only had Tessai-san been long due his vacations; if he hired someone else to help at the shop, Tessai-san would even be able to take a day off every _week_ , which might make him less grumpy, come the end of the day. And maybe Kisuke could…

Well, it didn’t matter right now, either way. Right now, he had more or less a minute or two to grab replacements for the pastries that were finishing, and maybe put out something else to spice up the options. He was sure there were some Cinnamon Buns resting in the oven somewhere…

He made himself busy, piling up a serving tray with more Cheese Tarts, Creamy Citrus Tarts and Pecan Cookies. He also added the Cinnamon Buns and a batch of Cannoli. He took a deep breath, breathing in the mix of scents that that felt familiar and warm and so much _safe_ , and left the tray over the counter closer to the door.

“Right. _Right._ ” He turned around, staring at the mess that stared back at him, lips pulling up in a grin. _Most_ of the used pans were piled up in the sink, but some stray ones still fell over each other over the counters, and Tessai-san would be chiding his ears off if he could see it. Kisuke laughed brightly at the image that brought him, but tried to focus on his search. He _knew_ there were some pies waiting to be baked somewhere around…

“Ah-ha!” He exclaimed, bouncing closer to the main oven of the kitchen. A beautiful strawberry pie waited to the side, and he patted it with a smile and a fond warmth in his chest. He’d always had a thing for pies; they were his favorites to bake, really.

The oven was still warm as he opened it up to put the pie inside, but not _too_ warm, so Kisuke guessed it would take longer than he was used to. Maybe it’d wait until after the rush?

He hummed, echoing the melody sounding over in the shop unconsciously, before nodding. It’d have to do.

He closed the oven with finality, trudging back to his tray and the glass door. Now, if only the man could have made up his mind while he was gone…

Unfortunately, that seemed to be too much to ask.

The red-haired man sighed heavily as Kisuke leant down to put the pastries in their places, and Kisuke tried not to roll his eyes. **_You_** _are tired. Think about every single person waiting for you to make up your damn mind! If you don’t know what to ask for, then **step aside**. Come on, it’s not that hard. You look into the glass, see something tasty, and point it out. Simple like that!_

“Can I take your order now, sir?” He asked politely, forcing another smile on his face, even as his eyebrows twitched and he tried not to grit his teeth.

At last, the man stared at him, blinking slowly as if surprised. “Oh. Hello. Sorry, good afternoon. I just… Can I make a request? To pick up later?”

“Of course, sir. But, if you are unsure of what to ask for, then here is a menu, and my policies about requests. If you just fill the survey attached… The prices and minimum time for each request are also printed out in there.” He pushed one of the pre-prepared ‘Request Kits’ (as he’d taken to calling them) to the man. “Now, is that all, or will you be requiring something for now, as well?”

The man took the papers with a bemused expression, and Kisuke waited (im)patiently for him to answer. “Oh. No, thank you. I’ll also take a slice of your Coffee Pie.”

More than ready to be done with the man, Kisuke nodded sharply, and cut the requested pie. “Will you be taking it as you fill the survey?”

Distractedly, already reading the papers, the man nodded. “Yes, please.”

Kisuke piled the slice onto a plate, and pushed it onto the red-haired man’s hands. “Now, if you could move to a table. Just stop by again, when you are ready to make your payment.”

And turned away from him, trusting the man to at least stop making a bother of himself.

The next woman hurried along with a longsuffering face, sighing openly as she pushed the man aside. “Three Pecan Cookies, please. To go.”

As he nodded, and went to get her request, he heard her ask, “Is Tsukabishi-san okay?”

Tsuka… Ah. “Tessai-san is fine,” He replied with a grin, giving her the paper bag with her cookies. “He is simply taking a much deserved holiday.”

She nodded, satisfied. “I see. Well then. Thank you.” She gave him a couple of coins and loose exchange. “Have a nice day.” And bustled away before he could even count the money she’d given him.

He certainly couldn’t understand regulars.

He shook his head lightly, but grinned broadly for the next person who stepped up to the counter, back to his shopkeeper persona — cheerful, annoying, and just a tad bit too airy to be real. People didn’t like it too much, not as they liked Tessai-san, but he preferred it this way, anyway.

Especially when faced with people like _this_ one.

He sighed, giving up on keeping his pretenses. “Are you done, sir? I need to step inside to take care of some pastries, and you are the last customer here.”

The red-haired man looked up with a blush on his face, stammering embarrassedly before gulping audibly to answer. “Yes, sorry, here, I—I mean, here, thank you. I am sorry for keeping you waiting.”

He gritted his teeth, but smiled as best he could, anyway. “Of course. So, have you make your decision?”

The man nodded. “A Custard Lemon Pie and a batch of Cinnamon Rolls. It _is_ possible to make both for today still, right? The both of them only requested 5 hours advance, but I am not sure, since it was only in the case of one or the other, so…”

Kisuke took the offered papers, reading the survey quickly. As Red-Hair had said, it was a Custard Lemon Pie and a batch of Cinnamon Rolls — a pie for ten people, and a batch of at least 12 rolls. He hummed quietly, thinking about the ingredients stored in his kitchen.

It was… possible. Risky, but possible. “For 7 pm, is it? There might be some delay, but, yes, it is possible.”

Red-Hair grinned broadly, tattoo on his face pulling in a way that was surprisingly charming. You know, for a man who was an incredible _annoyance_.

“Thanks! So, it’s likely I won’t be the one to come for it, though, so, how does that work? The rules say it is possible, but I’m not sure if I just need to give Ichigo a permission slip or what?”

Kisuke shrugged; that part of the rules had been added by Tessai-san, for him… “You just give me the whole name of whoever will come get it. And yours. As long as the information clicks, it should be okay. But I’ll need you to pay for at least half of it upfront, I hope you have read it?”

Red-Hair nodded, pulling a backpack from his back and opening it up with another dismissive wave. “Sure. Here, this should do, right?” He gave him a couple bills, and Kisuke counted them, before nodding. Just right, too, adding the slice of pie he’d bought earlier. “Okay, so. Name’s Abarai Renji. My friend, Kurosaki Ichigo, likely will be the one to pass through here and get the sweets. If there’s any trouble, just tell him to call me.”

“Of course.” Kisuke offered him another bland smile. “Now, if that is all, I will have to ask you to see yourself out. I do need to see to your requests, and there is a pie in need of rescue.”

Abarai blushed and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Again, thanks. You’re a life saver!”

As the man hurried out, Kisuke heaved out a tired sigh. Now, what to do with a request and no help…

He looked at his dwindling stock and grinned. As long as Tessai-san never heard of it…

**.**

_Flour has the strangest ability to get stuck **everywhere** ,_ he thought, dusting off his hands as he took in his kitchen. It looked like… well, like a flour bomb had exploded here. It was mostly amusing, but also very daunting — he didn’t have any help for _anything_ in the bakery. This meant he was also the one responsible of _cleaning_ his own kitchen up. Damn.

Since the timer on the oven still had a way to go, and what he could leave prepared for tomorrow was already stocked in the heated drawers, he decided this was as good a time to start cleaning as any other.

The flour would give him too much trouble, though, so he marched on to the piling sink instead. Waiting for the timer to go off at any moment, he also lowered the volume of the music playing through his speaker before reaching for the sponge and the first pan.

He was singing along with the lyrics when there was a knocking sound coming from the shop; he squeezed the sponge between his fingers too hard, in response, sending soap flying into his face. Unfortunately, he also managed to drop the last glass in the sink as his eyes started burning something fierce, and he was left to whine, scrubbing his eyes against his shirt sleeve, a half yell dying on his lips before it could even leave them. Right. Tessai-san was on his vacation.

“Coming!” he called, staring at the broken shards of glass that now littered the interior of the sink. _Fuck_.

He ran the faucet quickly, washing away the soap left in his skin before deeming his efforts good enough. Of course, the main thing was the pie that _wasn’t quite ready yet_ , so, anything he did would still fall lacking, he supposed.

He opened the door to the shop with one eye kept on the timer — there should be enough time to let the person inside, at the very least…

He turned around again, and saw yet another red haired man waiting. Well, Kisuke supposes that’s rude of him; Abarai certainly had _red_ hair. This man’s hair, however, looked much more like a… well, like a _carrot_.

_Heh._

He might be spending too much time with Yoruichi-san, really, because he had to raise a hand to hide a smirk at the sight.

“Hello,” he greeted still from behind his hands. “Am I correct in supposing you are here for the ordered pie and cookies?”

The man nodded, frowning slightly at him. “Yes. I’m Kurosaki Ichigo, here for Abarai Renji’s commission.”

_Ichigo_. Kisuke had almost forgotten it; why, wasn’t his hair color just slightly off? Abarai’s color seemed much more fitting to his name…

He curled his hands around his cheeks, making sure not a glimpse of his smirk was visible as he nodded and waved to Kurosaki-san. “If you could wait here, I will be right back. The pie should be finished in just a moment.”

The frown on Kurosaki-san’s face did not smooth out, but he nodded shortly — and kept _staring_ at him. Kisuke blinked slowly, staring back at him, before shrugging and walking back into the kitchen.

Just in time to hear the timer blaring at him. Fuck.

He opened the oven door hurriedly, turning it off with his free hand. It was still fine, thankfully; Custard Lemon Pies were terribly temperamental, he’d learned throughout the years, but his still sat perfectly fine, if a little bit golden at the borders.

He breathed out, shoulders slumping down and lips curling up in a smile as he reached for his oven mitten to get the pie out.

He was putting it down slowly, an eye on the cream on top and another on the empty space he’d aimed to leave it, when a voice interrupted him, making him jerk and set the tray down too far back and almost sending it down to the ground. Damn, damn, _damn_.

He scrambled to hold it, unfortunately using his unprotected hand to do so, and hissed sharply in pain even as he righted it in place.

“Sorry!” Kurosaki-san bustled around, eyes wide and hands twitching.

Kisuke gritted his teeth, pushing past him to the faucet to cool it down.

“Sorry.” Kurosaki-san repeated. At least he sounded genuine, Kisuke thought with a sigh. “Are there any blisters in the area? I can wrap it up for you, if you need me to. I’m good with first aid.”

Kisuke stared at the reddened skin — well, it was red, and hot, and maybe kind of swelling, but. “No, there doesn’t look to be any blisters.”

Kisuke heard Kurosaki-san sigh — and he might not know the guy for too long, but he sounded relieved. “Okay. Well, do you have a first aid kit around here somewhere? I might have some bandages inside my bag, but I think you’d prefer if you knew where they came from…”

Kisuke looked up, seeing worried brown eyes, and a small frown staring him down, and pointed silently to the cabinet by the door to the shop, where he kept everything Tessai-san deemed a “necessity”. Including, as it turned out, a first aid kit.

A few moments of shuffling and mumblings later, Kurosaki-san was back, holding the white box in his hands. “You can probably turn that off, now. How does your hand feel? Still hot? Does it hurt? Is it swelling?”

Cautiously moving his fingers, Kisuke examined every inch of the affected skin, but it seemed okay enough. Still warm, perhaps, but not hot, and it less hurt than ached uncomfortably, now.

“I think it’s okay.” He offered, watching as Kurosaki-san took his hand between his own. “It feels uncomfortable, but it is not my first burn, anyway.”

Kurosaki-san mumbled something that Kisuke did not quite get, in response, but…

But Kisuke must have misheard him. Because that had sounded a lot like an ‘I know’.

“What?” He asked, looking up from the counter, to see startled brown eyes staring right back at him.

“What what?” Kurosaki-san asked back, prodding at his burn cautiously.

Kisuke considered; was it worth it, to question it?

Well, as Tessai-san would be the first to say, he was always good at taking impossible chances. “What did you say, Kurosaki-san?”

“Oh. That.” Kurosaki-san offered him a shrug. “I said, ‘I suppose’. My sister loves cooking, so she’s always with a burn or a cut. I just, well, I suppose that’s common for anyone who works on a kitchen.”

Kisuke held his breath for a moment or two — but, Kurosaki-san just grinned wryly, and finished bandaging up his burn with firm hands.

“There, good as new. Take more care, you also seem to be sporting quite a bit of cuts on your fingers. It wouldn’t do for you to get an infection for lack of proper treatment.”

Free, Kisuke took his hands back, staring at the bandages — professional work. He clearly had a lot of experience in providing simple first aid to people.

He quirked his lips into a grin, offering Kurosaki-san a nod. “Thank you for the help. Now, I do think you were supposed to get a Lemon Custard Pie and a batch of Cinnamon Buns?”

As the man nodded and followed him, Kisuke couldn’t stop dwelling on those startled brown eyes. Kurosaki Ichigo…

Well. Kisuke hoped they could meet again, at least.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

As the laughter of his friends found him, he laughed together, a grin plastered to his face even if he didn’t even _know_ what they were talking about at the moment. He jostled, a warm arm falling over his shoulders, and turned to face Renji’s smirk.

“Hey, Ichigo,” Renji waved a cup of some unknown drink under his nose, and Ichigo retreated as best he could without dislodging Renji from him. “How you doing, man? You’re uncharacteristically quiet. Grab a drink, I bet it’ll make you feel better!”

He shook his head, mouth pulling into a grimace. “You know I don’t drink, bastard,” he complained, pushing the cup away. With a shrug, Renji drank it all in a single gulp, and burped loudly. “Disgusting.” He sighed. “Would you let me go, now? You stink.”

“Sorry, _princess_ ,” Renji snickered, lifting his arm away. By the flush on his face, and the pointed grin on his mouth, Ichigo knew he was well on his way to being drunk, and simply shook his head in place of the retort he’d usually give him.

Once Renji had lumbered off, laughing with Rukia about something or another, and Ichigo was left alone again, drinking his soft drinks and eating one of the cinnamon buns (and damn but it was _good_ ), he finally allowed himself to look down at his right hand again.

Just as he’d come to expect, there it was; a bright red burn mark, covering the interior of his fingers and the upper area of his palm. At least, Ichigo had discovered the man hadn’t lied when he said there weren’t any blisters. Those were little fuckers; even though he couldn’t really feel the pain, just the sight of them always drove him _crazy_.

He sighed, taking a sip of his soda. He shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about it, really. He’d made himself pretty clear on this subject.

… Even if the man didn’t know about it yet.

“Stupid,” he grumbled to himself, scratching at one of his red fingers. He was being _stupid_. He hadn’t done anything, in the end. He hadn’t… he hadn’t _rejected_ the baker.

He’d just…

Ignored it. Ignored him. Ignored _them_.

He sighed again, finishing his cup of soda, and turning to get some more. As he leaned to grab the soda bottle, however, he found Ishida’s eyes, staring straight at him, piercing and condemning, and he shivered in response.

Fuck Ishida. How did he…

But, now, he couldn’t know. _No one_ knew. Just Ichigo. Only Ichigo was aware of the twin marks marring their skin. Only Ichigo was aware of those grey eyes and the scars underneath his fingers that felt so damn _familiar_.

There was no _way_ Ishida could have even an _inkling_. He was just being paranoid. Of course.

He capped the soda bottle again, and grabbed another cinnamon bun, ignoring the pizza for now. Really, he hadn’t done anything wrong. There weren’t any rules saying that once a person knew who their soulmate was, they should _reveal it_. And, considering how Ichigo didn’t have any interest in _being_ someone’s soulmate, this was just a kindness.

Yeah, that’s right — he was being _kind_. If he _had_ told the man they were soulmates and _then_ ran away, _then_ Ichigo would have rejected him. As it stood, however, he’d just…

Taken the easy damn way out.

He laughed sharply, drawing Chad’s attention.

“You okay, Ichigo?” Chad asked, quiet but reassuring as always.

He offered a grin at Chad, grateful for the distraction. “Nah, I’m fine.” He turned around, knocking shoulders with him. “So, is everything to your liking?”

Chad still sent him a knowing look, but smiled nonetheless, “Of course. You didn’t even need to prepare all this, you are aware.”

Ichigo shrugged. “Eh, but we wanted to. It’s your birthday, and it’s only natural for us to throw you a party. It’s not as good as paying your ticket to visit your grandmom or anything, but…”

Chad ducked his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do not worry about it. This is more than enough, Ichigo.”

“If you say so.” Yeah; this was what mattered. His friends, his family. The people who _chose_ him. The ones who stood by him through thick and thin. Not someone who _fate_ decided was made for him.

If he flinched just slightly when — as a glare revealed — a new scar appeared on his fingers with a slight tingle, then it was his own damn business.

(But he’d still _really_ appreciate if his soulmate could be a little less _clumsy_ , damn it.)

**.**

Later that week, Ichigo was studying — a pile of medicine books spilling out over his desk, diagrams and notes and so damn many markers —, and he found himself distracted. He knew he needed a break, but he had been planning on studying for just _an hour_ more, _just one more_ … and then he looked down at the page of his book, saw a picture of tendons and nerve-ends, and saw his own fingers splayed over them, scratched and red and familiar, and thought of grey eyes.

Grey eyes, blond hair spilling over a tired face, and a burn mark blossoming over his hand even as he tended to a twin one.

Ichigo couldn’t believe he’d found his damned soulmate.

Alone in his room with only books to keep him company, Ichigo realized he had no excuse _not_ to think about it, anymore. About the grey eyes staring up at him and the flashes of _something else_ , about the hard pressed lips and the softness of another’s breath, and the sensation of familiar scars under his touch. Here, distracted, Ichigo realized he couldn’t stop thinking about the baker he’d never even got the name of.

What the hell.

“What the hell,” he repeated out-loud, leaning back on his chair and closing his eyes to stop _staring_ at his (at _their_ ) scars. “He’s a _stranger_. He’s just a stupid baker I stumbled across. He means _nothing_.” The ‘ _to me_ ’ echoed wordless in his mind.

Ichigo didn’t even _believe_ in soulmates, for shit’s sake.

I mean, _sure_ , it’s obvious that soulmates _exist_ and shit, but, really, ‘fated partners’? What did that even fucking _meant_? There were so many romantic stories woven around soulmates, so many stories of two people destined to meet and live together, destined to _love each other_ from the very moment they met… and it all meant _nothing_. Ichigo knew that; his parents had been very much in love with each other, and very clearly _happy_ together, and they weren’t each other’s fucking soulmate. His mother had never even _met_ hers, and his father’s had died when they were younger (and, from what Isshin told them, they’d never even _got along_ ). So, really, it was completely _ridiculous_.

Of course… there were also those who _were_ soulmates, and were happy together. People like Ishida and Inoue, and Yuzu and Karin, and Ichigo was happy for them, he was. But he wasn’t convinced it had anything to do with being _soulmates_ or _fated_. To Ichigo, if they were happy, they were happy because they _were_. Because they were friends; because they were _in love_ , or because they were _sisters_. Not because _fate said so_.

Fate was… a complete bullshit reasoning. Just an excuse for someone to make a grab at someone they just met and decide they were _more_ than mere acquaintances.

… Still, Ichigo supposed he could understand the… _glamour_ behind it. Even Yuzu saw it, sometimes; not that she wished for someone different, she and Karin _were_ very happy with each other, but… Yuzu sometimes would talk about it with Ichigo, about how she wished he could find _his_ soulmate, so he’d finally meet someone to make him _happy_. Because that was the promise, wasn’t it? If you share someone’s marks, then you should also share their _happiness_. If you have the potential to share pain, then you should also share their joy. It was a beautiful, if futile, promise.

And Ichigo never wanted to have to go through with it.

Especially now that he’d found his soulmate in a complete _stranger_ he wasn’t even likely to ever see again. Soulmates were supposed to be their _one and only_ , yet… yet it felt so utterly…

(disappointing)

“Normal,” Ichigo sighed, finishing his own thoughts.

It had felt _normal_. Just one other person he’d stumbled across. Had he not startled the man into burning his own hand, Ichigo wouldn’t even have realized they _were_ soulmates.

(“If soulmates are so damn special, shouldn’t we just _feel it_?” Ichigo mumbled, hands fisting around papers he really shouldn’t be screwing with, while he focused on something he couldn’t see, something he couldn’t quite _think_ about. Something that felt just there, just around the corner, yet so very far away…)

It was ridiculous.

“I always knew that, though,” he mumbled. Eyes falling closed to the sight of strange grey eyes once again, to the feel of warm hands under his. “I already decided I don’t want it.”

He’d decided it when he was thirteen years old, and his mother was smiling at his father, and Ichigo realized that everyone wanted to have a soulmate, but Ichigo just wanted to have someone who’d make him _smile_.

(He’d never regretted that choice, even when Rukia rejected him, softly, because she was waiting for _her_ soulmate, or when he’d had to reject Inoue, because he knew _she_ still dreamt of being with her soulmate, and he knew he wasn’t hers.)

But… But now, he thought of careful vulnerability, and realized that, just as he wouldn’t have been averse to trying with Inoue, he wasn’t… adverse to… giving it a _shot_. To this bullshit. To… to _knowing_ this person who shared his scars and so often marked his skin with cuts and burn marks. He certainly didn’t feel a _pull_ , but…

But, well. He was also kind of… curious. Maybe.

After all, Ichigo needed to prove that the ‘predestined soulmate’ thing was a complete bullshit, didn’t he?

**.**

So, let it be clear that just because he _decided_ something, he really, _really_ didn’t need shit pushing him into it.

“So, Onii-chan,” Yuzu started, sitting down onto his bed uninvited. “That pie you brought us…”

_Fucking hell._ He sighed, turning around to stare at her and her big puppy eyes staring up at him. “… What about it?” He asked wearily.

Yuzu batted her eyelashes slowly, pouting just slightly — and he _hated_ that Yuzu had learned that, shit, who’d taught her that? “You know… I was just wondering where that’s from…”

_She can’t know! She can’t possibly know. How’d she…_

“Didn’t I tell you? We bought that for Chad’s birthday.” Ichigo answered, mind whirring and heart racing. “You and Karin weren’t able to come, so the guys let me bring you some back. Said it was a treat for your good behavior.”

Ichigo could see her lips twitching, and wondered why she was fighting down her smile — and then got her answer not a minute later. “So… we really, _really_ loved it. And the buns. It’s from the same place?” Ichigo nodded. She beamed quickly, then schooled her features back into her big puppy eyes and sad pout. “And we’re _really_ working hard to get good grades…”

Oh for shit’s sake. “So you want more.”

It was a statement more than a question, but Yuzu nodded excitedly anyway. “Why, Onii-chan, we’d love that!”

He thought of a sheepish grin, and sharp eyes, and warm hands, and held his breath and hoped she’d give up on her own.

_Fate is bullshit_ , he reminded himself.

But Yuzu was still staring at him with those unblinking eyes, and her lower lip was trembling just slightly, and she hadn’t made him a request in _so long_ — and _Karin_.

And he knew he’d cave in even before he sighed. “Yeah, yeah,” he agreed, tiredly, even if he felt like there was something lodged into his throat and he couldn’t _breathe_. “Note down what you’d like, and I’ll get it for you.”

Yuzu beamed, lovely and cheerful and so _darling_ , and Ichigo felt it was okay to sign his soul off like that, if he could make his sisters happy with such a small thing.

( _But was it a small thing?_ He wondered quietly when she’d left, a promise in her eyes and a skip to her steps. He looked down at his hands, and wondered if it was _really_ such a small thing, after all. He’d just agreed it wasn’t unbearable to at least _get to know_ the man, but…)

**.**

Of course, Yuzu’s list was freaking _giant_ , and Karin had added her own two cents at every other corner of the paper, and Ichigo was left flooded at the idea that they were going to _eat all of it_.

Maybe he should cut off some things on his own…

But, no, this was for the girls. He knew Yuzu took enough care for the both of them; he didn’t need to worry so much. And, anyway, it’s not like this was going to be an every-day thing.

( _Really?_ The snarky voice in the back of his mind asked, before he could push it away)

When she’d delivered the list to him, Yuzu had said that if he only gave her the address, she’d buy it herself, but Ichigo had wanted to do something good for his sisters, and anyway, he worked just down the block from the Shoten, so, really, it was just expected right. It had absolutely nothing to do with the dread that had built up inside when he considered the possibility of Yuzu _knowing_ , of course.

But now, staring at the list — _two_ cherry pies? Ah, no, two _slices_ of cherry pie —, mouthing along with Yuzu and Karin’s handwriting, Ichigo felt a bubbling headache at the thought of standing around ordering all of it.

Shit.

Maybe he should have let her buy it herself, after all.

But — but he’d also _agreed_ , and, anyway, it meant nothing. Just because he was back… just because this was where his _soulmate_ worked (just because these were his _soulmate’s sweets_ ), it didn’t have to mean anything. He was just buying a treat for his sisters. If he met the man again, that was nice; or not, really. Who knows. Ichigo didn’t _know_ the guy, he just knew his _scars_. He could easily be a complete jackass. This was just… just a favor. And an opportunity, if anything.

To fulfill a promise; because Ichigo hated letting those unfilled. Just that.

He took a last glance down at the paper, and a deep breath — before pushing the door open, the bells jingling cheerily at him as he stepped into the warmer air inside. Once again, the whole shop smelled of sweets and treats, and the place is just as homey and nice and cheerful as before, and Ichigo relaxes minimally at the emptiness of the place.

Then he looked up, hearing footsteps, and there he is — the blond, sharp eyed man from last time.

“Hello!” His soulmate greeted cheerfully, a grin on his face that is nothing like the one Ichigo saw when he held his hand between his own and their secret in his mouth. “Welcome to Urahara Shoten, how may I be of help today?”

_You could start by leaving,_ Ichigo thought sullenly. But that was too harsh for a stranger who was just doing his job, really. So, instead, Ichigo nodded, and approached slowly.

“Hello…,” it hung in the air for a moment, when he once again realized he did not have his name.

“Urahara Kisuke,” the blond offered when Ichigo floundered for a moment more, a small smirk on his lips. (And, _shit_ , but does that mean he’s the _owner_ of this bakery?) “And you are Kurosaki Ichigo-san, right? From the commission of last week.”

Ichigo nodded silently. He remembered his name? Didn’t he have to deal with several customers every day? Did he remember _every_ name? Shit, _that_ ’d be impressive…

“It’s very unusual to receive customers so close to our closing time.” Urahara-san explained, and Ichigo breathed out slowly; ah, that made sense. “Also, you are quite remarkable, are you not?”

Wait. “Hey!” he yelped disgracefully, a hand rising to cover his hair in reflex. He’d thought he’d outgrown it, but, apparently not.

Urahara-san laughed — and Ichigo couldn’t decide if the man was a bastard or not, but his laughter was _nice_. “I apologize, Kurosaki-san. I merely meant you have an impressive coloring. Quite unusual, that is all.”

Ichigo glared at him one last time, before sighing. This was _not_ what he’d come here to do.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, raising the list to eye sight again. “Anyway. So… Urahara-san. Could you…”

But the focus of the man was already on the paper in Ichigo’s grasp, and he was reaching out a hand before Ichigo could flinch back, and Ichigo held his breath at the contact of fingers against his own skin, and hoped dearly that the man couldn’t see the newest cut they’d shared.

“May I?” Urahara-san asked, hands resting against Ichigo’s own, and sharp grey eyes staring up at Ichigo’s.

Ichigo blinked startled, but allowed the man to grab the list. “Uh. Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence as Urahara-san read Yuzu and Karin’s request list, and Ichigo tried not to fidget through it; he’d never been uncomfortable with silence before, but suddenly, Ichigo felt like he was suffocating. So many things rose into his throat at the same time, but nothing seemed right.

This man was his soulmate, but he was a complete stranger. This was the man Yuzu always pushed into (the _idea_ Yuzu always talked about), the one who supposedly “completed” Ichigo, if lore was to be believed. This was the man who’d bleed when he bled, the man who’d share his wedding marks, the man who’d wear his scars with as much pride as he always wore. This was the man fate had decided was the best fit for Ichigo.

This was the man Ichigo had already decided wasn’t meant to be his.

There were so many things in his mind — so many _what-ifs_ , so much _doubt_. Ichigo still couldn’t believe that one _needed_ their soulmate to thrive… but he’d also had time to look at Yuzu and Karin, laughing together, brushing a hand against each other’s scars and simply _being there_ , the lacking factor from each other, and he’d had time to _crave it_. He’d had time to look at Ishida and Inoue, and see how they just gravitated to each other, and how they stumbled their way into life together, and think that maybe he wanted that.

Ichigo had time to see happy soulmates, and realize that just like one didn’t _need_ their soulmate, they also weren’t _prohibited_ to have happiness with them, in whatever way possible, and Ichigo realized that… that maybe he was being stubborn.

Or maybe he was honoring the wrong thing of his mother.

But he’d also had time to _think_ ; and just like he’d realized that he wasn’t _opposed_ to being something with this man… he _was_ opposed to being anything with _anyone_ just because they were soulmates.

So. Ichigo looked at blond hair falling over grey eyes, at the slight shade of growing beard on this man’s face, at the crease of a frown in Urahara-san’s brow, and thought — this is my soulmate, and he can be _mine_. Or he can be nothing at all.

And there was only one way to find out.

And it _certainly_ wasn’t by telling him what they were.

But, as he tried to start a conversation, Ichigo realized he didn’t _know_ what to talk about; this was his soulmate, and this was supposed to be _easy_ , but Ichigo just felt so much _pressure_. So many _what-ifs_ , so many expectations. He felt…

“Wow, Kurosaki-san, this is quite the list you have here,” Urahara-san commented, a slight smile on his face as he looked up again.

And Ichigo latched on to the first thing that came to his mind. “Ah, yeah, sorry if it’s any bother. My sisters loved your sweets, and requested I bring them more, and, well, I just really can’t refuse them anything, and I’m afraid they realized that.”

_Why_.

He suffocated the desire to sigh, fearing he’d just killed any chance he had to even get to know the man — but instead, Urahara-san’s sharp eyes softened significantly, the grin on his lips finally resembling the one Ichigo had seen just once before, even if just slightly.

“Oh? Sisters?” Urahara-san prompted softly, and Ichigo grinned, leaning against the counter as Urahara-san started reaching for pies and cookies and biscuits, Yuzu and Karin’s requests being filled as Ichigo told him about his sisters.

Half an hour later, which was at least twenty minutes _after_ Urahara-san had finished arranging Ichigo’s order, and maybe ten or fifteen minutes after the shop was supposed to close, Ichigo looked at the clock on the wall, and startled enough to shut up.

“Oh. Sorry, Urahara-san.” He apologized, feeling a warmth burning in his cheeks. “I lost the notion of time. I, uh, I’ll be going, now. Uh… how much do I owe you…?”

Urahara-san waved it off easily, grinning back at him and telling him the price. Ichigo gave him the money, even as he counted it up in his mind and — “Wasn’t it supposed to be more?”

Urahara-san laughed. “Well, think of it as an… end of stock sale, if you must. I always have too much of everything at the end of the day, and you stopping by to buy it off from me was a huge help.”

Ichigo hummed, unconvinced.

“I mean it,” Urahara-san insisted. “Ah, also…” He reached down into the counter, and pulled out a small bag. “Here. You mentioned you liked the Cinnamon Buns; unfortunately, I have none left, now, but I do have some Orange and Cinnamon Biscuits.”

Ichigo spluttered. “I can’t possibly…”

Urahara-san put up a hand, cutting him off smoothly. “Why, think of it as a strategy to make a regular out of you, if you will. Isn’t it only natural to give free samples to customers when you wish to woo them over?”

_Woo_ … Ichigo grimaced at the wording, but nodded cautiously, accepting the package. “If you need…”

Urahara-san beamed cheerfully. “Yes, I do. Now, you told me your sisters were quite anxious to have some cherry pie today, still, so I guess it would be best if you started going now. I would hate to be the reason they were unable satisfy their cravings.”

Ichigo shook his head, blinking in utter befuddlement. This man was… _bizarre_.

“Well… thank you, Urahara-san,” he said, truthfully.

With a last grin and wave, Ichigo found himself leaving the Shoten with the thought that, perhaps, Urahara-san _had_ managed to win over another regular. If only to help him out with his “end of stock goods”.

… Halfway to his home, Ichigo also realized he’d talked to the man for half an hour about the twins, and he’d somehow… completely forgotten the man was his soulmate.

Huh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Much to Kisuke’s delight, Carrot-boy _does_ start stopping by at least a couple times a week. The first time Kurosaki-san stopped by after Kisuke gave him free biscuits, Kisuke half expected him to bring out another ungodly list (even if it _was_ just the following day). Yet, instead, he just blushed and grumbled something about puppy-eyes and stupid sisters before requesting more Cinnamon Buns. And Cinnamon Biscuits.

Kisuke had to hide a smirk.

The second time, Kisuke hadn’t been quite as surprised, yet he would admit to having been… _happy_ , if nothing else. Besides having an unusual coloring, Kurosaki Ichigo was also very _refreshing_ , Kisuke had realized. He always stopped close to the time Kisuke usually closed the shop, and every one of these three times, he had taken the time to just _talk_ , and Kisuke realized that _maybe_ Yoruichi-san was right, after all. He _needed_ more friends.

By the fifth time, Kisuke had started separating some Cinnamon Buns for Kurosaki-san. He did it every day, and usually ended up bringing them to Tessai-san (his kids loved them, too, so Kisuke didn’t expect it to prove problematic any time soon), but some days Kurosaki-san would stop by, and Kisuke would deliver them to _him_ , instead, and the face he’d pull was just…

So, Kisuke hadn’t actually expect some half-hearted maybe-teasing, maybe-flirting to work out, but. Here Kurosaki Ichigo was, looking just as bright and colorful as ever, his ever-present scowl on his red face, and Kisuke realized he _liked_ the boy. Huh.

(Kisuke also tried not to wonder too much on _why_ he continued coming, but. Yoruichi-san always told him it was his greatest fault, but Kisuke just thought it _prudent_ — even if his thought process many times ended with self-recrimination.)

Kisuke would really appreciate if Yoruichi-san could just come back as she’d been hinting at, because he realized he was way out of his comfort zone right now.

“So, my sister has been trying to convince me to cook for her, because ‘her birthday is almost here’ — which, _bullshit_ , it’s still a whole month away! —, and I’m trying to find a veritable excuse for me not to.” Kurosaki-san sighed, leaned against the counter as usual.

Kisuke swallowed, eyes catching on the way Kurosaki-san’s brown eyes flared in annoyance and fond resignation as he glared at nothing at all. “Well, could you say it would be counterproductive to give her your food for a gift? If you are a bad cook, it would be improper, after all.”

Kurosaki-san scoffed a short laugh. “Nah. That wouldn’t fly, unless I could manage to convince her that I somehow forgot how to cook in barely five years.”

Smart, refreshing, _and_ knows how to cook?

Where’s Yoruichi-san when he needs her?

“Ah.” Kisuke said simply, thinking about it. Unwittingly, his eyes were drawn to Kurosaki’s fingers — as he’d said on their first meeting, anyone who spends enough time in a kitchen will sport some scars. But, no, he just said he hasn’t cooked in five years…

But. He still had them. Cuts along the fingers, callouses at the base of his thumb, Kisuke could see as Kurosaki raised his hands to mess with his hair, a nervous tic Kisuke had noticed already.

Maybe Kurosaki-san’s soulmate…?

Kisuke tried not to think about it.

(Tried not to think about scars on his own fingers, about the empty space inside his chest. About the _longing_ and the wanting. About the way Kurosaki-san’s smile made his breath catch just slightly, and the idea of Kisuke’s soulmate still made his heart speed up. He tried not to think of any of that; and, when that failed, he thought of it all, and _pushed everything away_.)

“Well, Kurosaki-san,” he said instead, voice carefully quiet so Kurosaki-san wouldn’t be able to hear anything Kisuke was thinking about. “Perhaps you could just tell her you do not wish to cook any longer?”

Kurosaki-san shrugged, eyes averted, and lowered a hand to tap a nervous rhythm on the counter top. “I… don’t like lying to Yuzu and Karin.”

Kisuke let his head tilt slightly. “Well, then why don’t you?”

Kurosaki-san looked up, a frown on his brow and fingers stopping for the moment. “What?”

Kisuke smiled. “If saying you do not wish to cook would be a lie,” he explained. “Then, why don’t you cook for them? If they’d like it, and you wouldn’t hate it, either. It can be a one-day thing, like they requested of you.”

Kurosaki-san blinked slowly — and Kisuke pressed his lips together not to grin at the owlish expression; Kurosaki somehow just managed to be so _charming_ , it was ridiculous.

“Well…” Kurosaki-san mumbled slowly. “You… might be on to something… but… I don’t know? I just. I never quite thought I’d cook again, not for someone, at least. I… well, I guess I’d _hoped_ , but…” He cut himself short, and Kisuke refrained from frowning with much difficulty. After sighing, Kurosaki-san continued. “I used to cook for them all the time, I guess, but then Yuzu decided she liked cooking, and that cooking helped her cope, and I just. Let her.”

Kisuke considered if it was worth it to push but — well, he didn’t have much experience with it, but the experience he had was with _Yoruichi_ , and… Well.

“Cope?” He asked as delicately as he could.

Kurosaki-san shrugged again, and Kisuke was readying something to change the subject — maybe ask about his plans for the girls’ birthday? —, when he sighed and looked at Kisuke.

“It’s… well. I mean, it’s not really a secret, I guess,” he mumbled. Somehow, Kisuke knew his scowl was much more to guard himself than to actually scare people, but it had never been as plain as right now. “Before… I used to take care of the girls, whenever our parents weren’t home; Dad’s a cop, and Mom was a nurse, and we were left alone many times, and I learned to cook early on, and they were okay with that. But then, Mom got sick, and… well. She didn’t quite got through it, and after she died, Yuzu decided that I had too much to worry about, already, and she wanted to care for the house. I taught her to cook, and after that, she took over the kitchen, and. Well.”

“Ah.” Kisuke said, inelegantly, before grimacing at himself. “I apologize. I did not mean to press…”

Kurosaki-san shrugged again, but offered him a small, wry smile, this time. “You didn’t. Like I said, it’s not really a secret. I just… well.” Then, he leaned even further forward, and grinned sharply. “I guess this means you’re officially my friend, now, so you should give me a friend’s discount, too.”

Kisuke surprised himself with the bark of laugh that left his lips. He guessed that Kurosaki-san was still hurt, and that this was just _his_ own method of coping, but still…

“Friends, huh?” He asked with a grin of his own. “Well, then. I guess this means I can borrow you to help out at the shop, too, when I need it!”

Kurosaki-san spluttered, laughing and coughing at the same time, hand rising to cover his mouth and shoulders shaking. “That’s just unfair!” He complained, face still split on a grin and eyes dancing with mirth.

“Oh, but, Kurosaki-san! All of my friends have been required to help out at one point or another,” he explained, smirking. “Besides, if you do, I will also be able to give you an employee’s discount. So. Really, it’s a perfect deal, don’t you think?”

Kurosaki-san laughed harder, and Kisuke hid his own smile behind his hands.

Oh, damn; he really needed Yoruichi-san’s advice.

When Kurosaki-san left (and Kisuke _did_ give him a “friend’s discount” he had to create at the spot, but it was totally worth it), Kisuke leaned against the counter himself and groaned in defeat.

He _couldn’t_ have a… a damn _crush_ on Kurosaki Ichigo.

Yet, here he was, smiling like a buffoon just moments after the man himself had left, and all Kisuke could think about was Kurosaki Ichigo’s smile and glinting eyes, and he just. He had made a promise to himself when he was young that he’d at least wait to meet his soulmate, but now…

Now, he found himself thinking he’d really love if his scars were mirrored on Ichigo-san’s skin, and that he’d really love to sport matching tattoos with the med student.

**.**

For the first time in a couple weeks, Kisuke was the one to initiate contact between them, and Yoruichi-san didn’t pretend not to notice it.

_“Kisuke?”_ Her voice sounded curious and serious, and the lack of suffix made Kisuke even more aware of the oddity this was. _“Are you okay?”_

He thought about lying. Then, he thought of a ringing laughter, and fiery eyes, and his breath caught in his throat along with his lies.

“No,” he admitted, lying back against his couch, eyes unfocused on the blank ceiling above him. “I need some advice.”

Yoruichi-san hummed quietly in return. _“If I can help you, you know I will.”_

“Yes.” Kisuke smiled tiredly. “I’m just…”

When he derailed into silence, seeing nothing and everything at the same time, just listening to Yoruichi-san breathe over the phone, she respected his need to gather his thoughts, as she’d always done.

A minute later, he finally breathed out. “You’ve been talking about your soulmate.”

Kisuke couldn’t quite name the sound Yoruichi-san made in return, being something choked and silenced before it came to fruition, but Kisuke was quick to add: “Not that I mind. It’s just… you’ve found your soulmate, and you’re just… so _happy_ with her, and…”

_And I once loved you, but you deserved better, you deserved the world, and I… I always waited for someone who’d be mine, and no one else’s. And now, now I’m…_

“And I’m wondering if it’s worth it. To wait.”

Yoruichi-san sighed quietly, and her voice was soft when she replied. _“I can’t answer that for you, Kisuke-chan.”_ She paused. _“Does Soi-Fon make me happy? Yes, yes, of course. But so do you. So does Tessai. Am I happy for having met Soi-Fon? Of course. But if I hadn’t, I’m not sure I’d keep waiting. Not forever. Not if I found someone that made me happy in a way that I’d never expected.”_

And isn’t that the core of the problem. Kisuke frowned at the shadows in his ceiling, unwilling to try and unravel that particular question, but knowing he’d have to, at some point.

_“Did you?”_

He thought of fiery eyes once again, of confessions exchanged late in the evening, and of unguarded smiles and violent laughter, and had to admit that… “Maybe.”

_“Do you think it is worth it?”_ She asked without hesitation, like he’d expected her to.

Knowing she’d wait, he took his time to think seriously on the answer. _Did_ he think Kurosaki Ichigo was worth it?

He looked down at his hands, at the scars running down his fingers, and callouses on his palms, and thought of hands that could mirror his. He thought of Kurosaki’s hands, with charming scars and callouses, and thought of hands that could mirror _his_. He thought of someone, out there, with a badly scarred knee, and of someone who could one day share his mark, could one day make a tattoo blossom on his wrist. And he thought of Kurosaki Ichigo and his fire, and the fire _he_ brought Kisuke. He thought of Kurosaki Ichigo, and how he had his own soulmate out there, and how Kisuke should at least let him meet them, before…

He breathed out. He closed his eyes.

“Yes.” He admitted, voice but a whisper in the silence of a too quiet house.

The resounding hum coming through the speaker was expected, too.

_“Then, maybe you shouldn’t wait. Maybe, this person can be it. Maybe, your soulmate isn’t meant to be **more**. Maybe, your soulmate will one day be your best friend, your sibling — it could even be a child you’ll adopt, if it’s meant to be. But is it worth it, waiting, when you have something special right in front of you?”_

Kisuke laughed brokenly, and thought, _I already chose to do so, once. Isn’t it cruel, to choose differently, now?_

But.

“Maybe you’re right.” He murmured, opening his eyes to the darkness again. “Thank you, Yoruichi-san.”

_“Always, Kisuke-chan.”_

**.**

It’s on the fifth week since meeting Kurosaki Ichigo that the red-head first appeared earlier than Kisuke’s closing time.

And with someone.

That was new.

Kisuke frowned, staring at familiar orange hair and laughing eyes and realizing he didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing Ichigo-san… _Kurosaki_ so happy with someone else. Especially with such an adorable girl, he noted dully.

And she was — her hair was soft, and her eyes were full of light, and her face was bright with a kind of happiness that made Kisuke’s heart ache. She was _beautiful_. And Ichi--Kurosaki was a good match for her. She was bright and cheerful and everything Kurosaki deserved, and Kisuke…

Kisuke wondered if she was his soulmate. It’d fit.

“Hey, Urahara-san!” Kurosaki greeted with a grin, propping himself against the counter as was his habit. Luckily, despite being earlier than Kurosaki’s usual hour, the Shoten was just as empty, so Kisuke had liberty to lean on the other side, offering the boy a smile.

“Kurosaki-san,” he greeted warmly, eyes diverting back to the girl with his newest regular. “I see you’ve brought company.”

He’d guessed his tone was mild, but something about it must have caught Kurosaki’s notice anyway, because suddenly, Kurosaki was frowning, head tilted slightly in curiosity.

“Yeah. This is Yuzu; she’s being bothering me to come, since I keep on bringing sweets home, so…” He explained with a shrug, and Kisuke had a second to grimace at the thought that _they lived together_.

Then, his brain caught up to him, and he realized this was _Yuzu_. _Ichigo’s_ Yuzu. _Kurosaki_ Yuzu.

“Oh? I have heard much about you,” he said, grinning at the girl who suddenly looked much better. If he squinted hard, Kisuke could even see the resemblance between siblings, actually… Yes. It was just a stupid moment of rushing ahead. He wanted to laugh at himself, but refrained for the sake of at least _looking_ sane.

Still, he took much more care to analyze the girl, now he knew who she was. Kurosaki Yuzu-chan, huh? One of Kurosaki’s younger sisters, and the one responsible for caring for the family, if Kisuke remembered it correctly. Also, the one responsible for pushing Kurosaki into cooking again.

She looked… perfectly harmless. Kisuke didn’t know what he’d expected, but he realized this wasn’t it.

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she answered with a polite bow and a cheerful smile. “Urahara Kisuke-san, yes? I am Kurosaki Yuzu. I wanted to thank you personally for all the sweets you have been sending us. Onii-chan said it was mostly things you chose, so, thank you, it’s all very delicious.”

Kisuke grinned; sweet, beautiful and polite. Kurosaki-chan certainly didn’t sound much like her older brother. “Why, thank you,” he shrugged, chuckling quietly. “It isn’t too hard to remember what my costumers like, and after the list of your preferences, I only took reasonable guesses on what else should please you and your sister.”

For some reason, Kurosaki blushed a furious tone of red, mumbling underneath his breath and scowling up at the empty ceiling while Kurosaki-chan laughed behind her hands.

“Yes, it was quite surprising,” Kurosaki-chan agreed amusedly. “We gave Onii-chan a list of preferences, so he’d choose one among the possibilities, and he somehow came home with the _whole content_ of the list.”

Kisuke raised a hand to hide his spreading grin, even as Kurosaki spluttered and yelled in response, “ _How_ was I supposed to know I _shouldn’t_?!”

The way she riled Kurosaki was just _delightful_. Kisuke swallowed down a laugh; Kurosaki-chan had no such qualms, laughing cheerfully at her brother’s face, leaning forward to continue conspiratorially.

“I told Onii-chan I wanted _a pie_. Then, I gave him a list with three pies, two batches of cookies and five buns, and he somehow decided it was the very same thing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved everything, but, really, even in two, that took us a week to finish off!”

By the side, Ichigo-san blushed harder, looking down sharply to avoid eye contact, and Kisuke felt his heart warming up painfully. He was so damn beautiful, so _dear_ , and Kisuke… Kisuke just wanted to reach out and grab his hand, to feel his blush against his palms, and count the freckles on his face, and just…

He decided, right here and right now, he loved Kurosaki Yuzu. She didn’t sound too much like her brother at first glance, but she was just as charming, just as mischievous without coming off as bratty. She was very respectful, actually (something he’d never describe Kurosaki as), but still very _fiery_ , and Kisuke wondered if that was a trait shared by all of the Kurosakis.

“So…” she started off again, grinning and resting calmly on his counter. “Is there any chance you could offer me some tips on baking? I’d love to be able to bake more than a simple chocolate cake, when I have a mind for something sweet.”

Kurosaki huffed out a laugh, and his eyes were warm with fondness as he looked up at Kurosaki-chan — and Kisuke _wanted_ that, but he also loved seeing it, simply like that. The way Kurosaki opened up, _warmed_ up, his frown blurring into something sweeter and fonder, the way he just looked so much younger… it all made Kisuke’s heart lurch, and his hands itch, and a primal desire to _claim_ burn within.

“If you knew how to bake, we’d all be diabetic, Yuzu,” Kurosaki said teasingly. “You’d _always_ be baking something, and then we’d be tired of sweets.”

Kurosaki-chan rolled her eyes obviously in Kisuke’s direction before turning around, a pointed grin on her lips. “Yet, you keep coming back to a _bakery shop_ , and buying us sweets every other day. I fail to see your point, Onii-chan.”

Kurosaki huffed again, still faintly red in the face, but grinned just as cheerfully back at her. “Well, I couldn’t quite let you rot in abstinence, could I?”

Kurosaki-chan laughed. “Thanks, Onii-chan,” she said just as teasingly. “Now, why don’t you take this _helpfulness_ and go buy Karin and I some pads, since you said you didn’t want us to take too long here?”

Kurosaki scowled harder, crossing his arms in response. “Yuzu! Why _me_? Come _on_ , you said last month you’d stop doing this…”

Was that a whine Kisuke could detect in his voice? That was so _cute_. He hid a grin very carefully under his hand, unfortunately aware of the awkwardness that was involved in buying pads and tampons (Yoruichi-san had never had any shyness in announcing to the whole _world_ when she was on her period. Unfortunately, the fact they’d shared a flat for a couple years meant Kisuke was her favorite victim to buy her _everything_ ; from tampons to chocolate to ‘cure her PMS’).

“But, _Onii-chan_ ,” Kurosaki-chan started sweetly, and Kisuke watched in amused curiosity as she made her lips tremble and eyes get bigger and rounder. “You just said you wouldn’t let me _suffer_. And now you’re backing away from your words? You’re so _mean_ , Onii-chan.”

Just as Kurosaki once told him, he clearly faltered under the assault, arms falling to his sides and trying to avert his eyes from Kurosaki-chan’s face.

“I mean…” he struggled to respond. “It’s just… you said you had something to do later, so we should be quick… and if I go there and come back it’ll take twice as long as if we just stop by a drugstore on our way home after this, and, anyway, I can deal with Urahara-san on my own, so you can go on ahead, if you need, I…”

“But, Onii-chan, this is the first time I’ve come to Urahara-san’s shop. I want to see the options! I want to be able to choose my own sweets.” She paused, looking down very sweetly before adding in a small voice. “Can’t I?”

Kurosaki crumbled like a cookie.

Kisuke watched in amusement and a healthy dose of fear as Kurosaki sighed, reaching a hand up to ruffle Kurosaki-chan’s hair before he stepped away. “I’ll be back in a few!” He stopped by the door, and smiled at Kisuke, much to Kisuke’s delight. “Sorry about not spending much time with you this time, Urahara-san; I know you get bored. I promise to stop again this week.”

Then, with a slight wave, he races off, and Kisuke is left alone with Kurosaki Yuzu.

He doesn’t know what to expect.

“So. Urahara Kisuke-san.” Kurosaki-chan drawled quietly, turning back to stare him in the eyes, and he shivers slightly at the ferocity he can see in her eyes. Yes; she’s _certainly_ Ichigo-san’s sister. “My brother likes your bakery, for some reason. And he’s _never_ liked to just visit somewhere for no reason at all. At most, game stations, when he was younger. He’s certainly never been one for _sweets_ , yet he’s never even brought home something savory, that I’ve seen. Which means, he’s coming to you for some _other_ reason.”

Kisuke swallowed harshly, even if his heart raced, and his hands clammed up. Yes, he’d known Ichigo-san had been stopping for something other than his sweets… but to have it called to his face…

(And to be _forced_ to admit it. It was frightening. Kisuke had _hoped_ , certainly, but…)

“I appreciate that you have been allowing him to stop by, even if he rarely buys much, but if you have any suspicious reasoning behind it, know that I am not afraid to sic Dad on you.” She paused, and grinned sharply at him, eyes glinting with an edge of steel. “And I don’t know if Onii-chan told you, but our father is a very overprotective cop.”

He knew. Of course he knew. Not only had Ichigo-san mentioned in passing, when explaining his struggle about wanting but not wanting to cook again, but he’d once told Kisuke tales of all his family — the “brilliant and brilliantly scary” younger sisters, the “stupidly cheerful but ferocious” father, the “otherworldly sweet and lovely” mother. Clearly, Ichigo-san hadn’t been lying about his sisters in a burst of pride, so Kisuke could only reason he hadn’t been lying about the others, either.

Kurosaki-chan was still staring him down, eyes too sharp for such a young girl, and Kisuke swallowed reflexively again before forcing himself to relax.

“I admit I have realized Kurosaki-san… hasn’t been entirely interested in my sweets, even if he’s mentioned bringing them to you a couple times.” He started as honestly as he could, motioning for the shop around them with a wave of hand. “At first, he was just… curious, I suppose. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he managed to startle me into burning myself in our first meeting,” he chuckled mirthlessly at the thought. Of course, he’d managed to have one of his clumsiest episodes right in front of the most entertaining person he’d met in _years_. But, if that had been the reason for Ichigo-san to come back, he couldn’t complain too much, he guessed. “But, well. I’d like to believe that, now… now he just comes back to… to see me. If for no other reason.”

He swallowed again, and looked up into sharp eyes. With deliberate decision, he let her see his gratefulness and his fondness as he smiled, thinking of the tales exchanged in the quiet of the evening, of the laughs stolen and the touches that were too ephemeral to mean anything but that still left him reeling.

“I don’t want to question it,” he admitted. “But I _am_ thankful for it. Thankful for his presence here. In these past few weeks… I’ve come to consider Kurosaki-san one of my greatest friends. And being able to see him…” _makes him hope more than he’d ever hoped before_ “Makes me happy.”

He didn’t need to tell her he considered him one of his _few_ friends. If she didn’t know about it, it was not his fault, really.

She nodded curtly, decidedly, before smiling sharply at him, eyes knowing and too wise, and Kisuke was afraid and respected her much more now, after seeing a girl who wasn’t afraid of standing up against strangers to protect her brother. To protect Ichigo-san.

“I’m glad, then,” she said simply. “Onii-chan always needs someone to stand by him, and I get the feeling you won’t let him down. Not if you can help it.” Then, her smile turns into a grin, and she adds. “And if you can’t, don’t worry, I’ll be right here to punish you for it. After all, I _am_ willing to learn more about baking, and Onii-chan mentioned you don’t have anyone else to help you with the shop right now, and I’d love to help you out.”

Kisuke laughed, startled by the way she steamrolled her way into his decisions just like that — just like her brother, steamrolling his way into his life and heart and being so goddamn smug about it —, but also… well.

Also somewhat touched by it.

It was the first time he’d ever got a shovel talk.

It was much better than people ever made it seem.

“Of course, Kurosaki-chan,” he answered, offering her a hand. “I could always have someone to care for the shop while I bake, and if you get here early enough — or if you don’t have any problem staying later —, I can teach you about baking before opening the shop, or after closing it.”

Ichigo-san stepped through the door, making the bell jingle, just as Kurosaki Yuzu shook his hand, fierce and bright and unshakable, “Thank you for taking me in, Urahara-san. I promise to learn as best as I can, and will do my best to be the best cashier you’ve ever had.”

Kisuke grinned wryly, thinking about how Tessai-san would have _words_ with him later, and shook his head — and looked up to see Ichigo-san frowning at him, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips even as Kurosaki-chan continued: “Also, please, call me Yuzu. I fear you’ll have your hands full with us Kurosakis, from now on.”

… _Well_ , he thought with a breathless chuckle, _he really hoped she was right_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Ichigo was lying on the couch, lazily following the pictures on the TV (it was something western, he thought. He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t much care, either way), a hand under his head, and the other playing with Karin’s shirt, just taking a break from his studies, when Yuzu got home, excited.

She bounded her way to the couch with absolutely no grace at all, dropping like a sack of potatoes over Ichigo’s legs, and patted a hand against Karin’s arm in a way that was rougher than quite needed.

“ _Tadaima_!” she said chirpily. “You know, Onii-chan, you should have said Urahara-san was so nice. Working at the Shoten is actually very fun, and Urahara-san always teaches me something new when he has time. Today he taught me my first real recipe, and now I know how to bake cookies, and they’re _delicious_ , and I can’t wait to try to make it on my own. If it works out, I need to bring some to Urahara-san, to show him his lessons paid out.”

Ichigo blinked slowly. Somehow, Yuzu managed to say all that in a single breath, sounding chipper and sugar high, and he wondered how many cookies she’d eaten before coming home…

Then, the rest of the sentence caught up to him, and he groaned silently as he realized that Yuzu would never give up on her job, not if it meant free sweets _and_ learning how to make her own sweets, damn it.

(He resolutely did not think about _why_ he’d wanted her out of the Shoten, in the first place. It’s not like she wasn’t allowed around Urahara-san, really. It’s just…

it’s just that _maybe_ he was feeling a bit…

 _lonely_ )

“I mean, I certainly didn’t expect him to be such a good teacher, not after I threatened him into it,” Yuzu was saying when he focused back on her, and he guessed he’d lost a question or two, because that. _What._

“Did you just say you _threatened_ Urahara-san?!” he yelped, trying to sit up to glare at his sister, but being stopped by her weigh on his feet, and he tried to kick her out, because _priorities_ , but she was well-adept at this, by now, and just shifted her weight with his struggles, and remained planted over him. Terrible, _terrible_ decisions he’d made when he was younger, he decided scowling up into the air.

Because of their positions, he felt more than heard as she laughed, hand patting his shoulder lightly. “Well, Onii-chan,” she had the gall to say, chirping cheerfully. “If you just _told_ us about things, I wouldn’t have to get worried, would I? And you’re always so _reckless_. I needed to check you weren’t in any trouble or something. I mean, you don’t even _like_ sweets all that much, yet you kept going back to a _bakery_? I was worried!”

To his absolute shame, _of course_ Karin agreed with her. “Yeah. You’re ridiculous like that, Ichi-nii. It’s like you think it’d hurt your pride or something, if you just _told us things._ ” She clucked her tongue audibly, flicking Ichigo on the nose. “Well done, Yuzu. And next time, bring me cookies. I want cookies.” She added, sounding pouty and Ichigo tried not to snicker.

Ichigo couldn’t see, but he’s _sure_ Yuzu preened in response. “Of course, Karin. I’ll even bring you some of mine,” she demurred sweetly. “But, anyway, Urahara-san was respectable. He was even _polite_. He promised he didn’t have any ill intent towards you, and that he regards you highly, and even agreed to teach me how to bake. And he’s so _clumsy_ , and I end up with more burns than I’d care for — but still, his hands always look so damn _terrible_ at the end of the shift, I think he should just bandage them up upfront, but he says that even a glove could get stuck to the dough, and I can see it, but still… But. Yeah. He’s a very great baker. His pies are to die for.”

Karin made a sound of discovery, and Ichigo tuned her out, looking down at his own hands without conscious decision. Just like Yuzu said, his hands looked _terrible_. It was like they had served as a battlefield of some sorts. So many small cuts, so many scratches, so many callous… Even some burns here and there. It was _ridiculous_. If he hadn’t tasted Urahara-san’s sweets already, he’d say there is _no way_ he’s a good baker, because who the hell manages to get so hurt even with so much experience?

But, of course, his soulmate did. And to think Ichigo used to feel guilty about how he always ended up banged up, when he was younger…

(Though that probably raised some very funny questions, now that he thinks about it. Urahara-san must be… what? Five to ten years older than he? So, while Ichigo was running around busting his chin and almost scrapping his knees off in an accident with soccer, Urahara-san was likely… well. Supposed to have _outgrown_ it all, huh. Maybe this was all some sort of ironic punishment for all the crap Ichigo put him through, then. He guessed he deserved it.)

He focused back on the conversation as Yuzu mentioned that Urahara-san had asked for Ichigo, blushing slightly and choking as he answered promptly: “Yuzu! I’m pretty sure that was _not_ what he said!” And just basked in Yuzu’s answering laugh.

(And the possibility it _had_ been that. Fuck.)

His sisters were two _brats_ , but he loved them dearly, anyway.

**.**

_He should have seen this coming,_ Ichigo thought wryly as Yuzu pushed him back into his bedroom when he tried to leave, a fierce frown on her face.

Yet, he’d dared to hope that everything would remain the same. That everything would be just…

“Onii-chan, you should tell him.” She stated clearly, crossing her arms and standing in front of the door so he had no way to run unless he pushed her away. Clever girl.

“Tell who what?” He asked slowly, biding his time as he looked around the room one last time, making sure there was nothing incriminating anywhere in sight. Not that he thought there’d _be_ , but… best safe than sound.

“Oh, I don’t know. Urahara-san, perhaps?” She answered drolly, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “You know, the guy who is your _soulmate_.”

He spluttered ineffectively at her, trying to think of something to say, some way to _refute it_ , some… clever remark!

“ _What_?” he ended up asking instead, voice high and broken.

 _Thank you brain_ , he thought annoyed.

She grinned with a savage satisfaction, leaning back into the door so she was comfortable, and waved one hand dismissively, acting all _smug_ and annoying and… and Ichigo loved his sisters, but he also really wanted to strangle them, sometimes.

“I don’t know… Maybe I was being too unclear for you? Do you need me to explain this out? I can do that.” She batted her eyelashes at him, every bit the sarcastic asshole he’d trained her to be, and he hated himself, right now, fuck you, past Ichigo. He was also, unfortunately, damn _proud_ of her. But, yes, he still wanted to strangle her. Slowly. He offered her a smile that was more bared teeth than anything, and she laughed before continuing. “I think it is a very strange coincidence, then, that Urahara-san burned his hand on your first meeting, and not a day later, you appear home with a similar burn mark on _your own hand_. And, well, I guess it _could_ have been an honest mistake… except that Urahara-san told me that not only was the burn _your fault_ , but that you even _treated him_ for it. Which means, you _knew_ about it.”

Very good points. Very good points, _indeed_ , and Ichigo never thought Urahara-san would have told that to Yuzu, shit, he should have thought about it. But then, what was he supposed to do? Ask Urahara-san _not_ to tell her? And, what? How would he explain it away? It’d only raise his suspicions, and Ichigo… didn’t want that.

Still, he tried. “Well, a very strange coincidence, huh. I guess I didn’t even think about it…”

She didn’t even pretend not to be annoyed, laughing sarcastically right in his face, and rolling her eyes forcefully.

“Yeah, right. _Bullshit_ , Onii-chan, _bullshit_.”

 _At least he tried_ , he thought with a sigh.

When he continued staring glumly at her (and he wasn’t _pouting_ , Yuzu. He _never_ pouted!), Yuzu finally sighed, softer and kinder at last, and offered him a small smile.

“Onii-chan, Urahara-san is clearly taken by you. And you clearly love him. You really _should_ tell him the truth, lest he happens upon it somewhere down the road, and then he realizes you’ve been _lying_ to him, all this time.” She pointed out, and he hated she was so damn… _logical_. “And, anyway, what is the worst that could happen?”

He thought of grey eyes shining with mirth, of soft smiles exchanged in the silence of the evening, of touches that were too soft to be anything but tentative, and thought of how his heart clenched and lurched, and how his stomach filled with butterflies, and how he had _hoped_. How he had looked at Urahara Kisuke and thought, _if we were just two random guys, I’d have asked you out._

Because, if they were just two random guys, what _was_ the worst that could happen? Urahara-san would reject him? Ichigo could live with that. He’d _been able_ to do that, before, he’d be able to do that again, if need be. If Urahara-san simply wished to remain friends, Ichigo would be _fine_ with it. Urahara-san was a great friend, after all.

What he _couldn’t_ live with was if Urahara-san _didn’t_ like him back, didn’t feel as fond as Ichigo did, and still went through with it _just because they were soulmates_. Because Urahara Kisuke was an _idealist_. He was a romantic. He… he dreamed about his soulmate. He dreamed about having someone who’d stand by him, no matter what.

And Ichigo wanted to be that — that person, the one who’d stand by him, the one who’d share his victories and losses, the one who’d cheer him up when he was down, and comfort him when he was tired; he wanted to be the one there, through thick and thin, through sick and health, through poor and wealth. He just… didn’t want to be _his soulmate_ to be that person.

“I don’t want it to be about us being soulmates,” he admitted quietly, staring at his own hands and the ever so familiar marks in them, counting every single one, and smiling at the way Urahra-san always managed to hurt his left hand so much more than his right one.

Yuzu sighed forcefully again. “ _Duh_.” Because she knew about Ichigo’s stance on soulmates. There was no one in their family who _didn’t_ (much to Isshin’s ever growing amusement and Yuzu’s own annoyance). “But you _are_ soulmates, Onii-chan. Whether you like it or not.”

He grimaced, but continued. “Yeah, but I want us to be _more_ than soulmates. I told you already, I don’t like this… this _destiny thing_. I want him to want me for who I _am_ , not because something decided we _should_ care for each other.”

“Onii-chan, I love you, but you are too stupid, sometimes.”

Ichigo felt dread swell up inside him as he heard the laugh in Yuzu’s voice, and looked up slowly to meet a lopsided grin on her face.

“What does that even _mean_?” he asked, carefully.

“It _means_ , Onii-chan, that you already _do_ care for each other. And unless Urahara-san is a very good actor, he doesn’t know you are his soulmate. In fact, I’m pretty sure I heard him talking on the phone, once, to a friend of his, about how he really wanted to meet his soulmate, but he really didn’t want to, either. Not anymore.” She explained, voice in a deadpan but eyes shining with mirth. “I wonder why.”

Ichigo swallowed reflexively, _hoping_ , but… “He’s a romantic. That doesn’t make _sense_.”

Yuzu clearly wasn’t in the mood to let him push it away again, because she opened the door, and started leaving even as she asked back: “Doesn’t it?”

And.

And Ichigo _wanted_. He wanted it, he wanted _Urahara Kisuke_ , so badly. He… he hadn’t wanted to admit, before, but… but he _did_ care about Kisuke-san. He cared about his happiness, about his friends, about his small tales. He cared that Kisuke-san loved the Shoten so very much, he cared that Kisuke-san was lonely but also always cheerful. He cared that… He cared that Urahara Kisuke was his soulmate. Because… because it did matter.

But was it _all_ that mattered? Was this _all_ about them being soulmates?

Because… Ichigo perhaps didn’t _love_ Kisuke-san yet, but he knew that he _could_ come to love him. He knew that Kisuke-san’s sharp wit and undivided attention were terribly _charming_. He knew that he was attracted to Kisuke-san’s smile, and Kisuke-san’s laughter, and the way Kisuke-san was so damn _shy_ , even if he always projected so much confidence. And he… he knew he’d been preening, these past few days, about the fact that his… his _soulmate_ had taken in his family without batting an eyelash (even when Yuzu had _threatened him_!). Ichigo… Ichigo perhaps didn’t _love_ Urahara Kisuke, just yet, but he _did_ love the way Kisuke-san would slowly open up to him, would sometimes slip up and call him “Kurosaki” instead of “Kurosaki-san”. He loved the way Kisuke-san’s eyes were just so bright and clear and sweet. He loved the way Kisuke-san made him _feel_. He…

He liked Kisuke-san. He…

He didn’t quite _love_ him yet, but maybe he did, too. And Ichigo refused that all of this was just because of them being _soulmates_. Because… because he loved Kisuke. As a person. As the person Ichigo had grown to know.

And… and that was the reason he never said anything, he supposed. Despite everything, he _did_ love Kisuke… and he was scared.

He was scared Kisuke wouldn’t love him back, because he would be okay if they were just friends, but he also _wouldn’t_. Because he’d always get flutters around him, and butterflies, and cravings to _touch_ , and if Ichigo knew there was never a chance for it to come to anything…

But, really, most importantly, he was scared that Kisuke _would_ love him… but just because they were soulmates. Because Kisuke had been waiting for his soulmate for so long, and Ichigo…

( _He wants to meet his soulmate, but doesn’t really, not anymore_ )

**.**

_(he really should grow a backbone)_

**.**

Gathering enough courage to step into the Shoten was harder than he’d thought possible. He and Kisuke knew each other for _six weeks_ , already, and Ichigo could describe them, at the very least, as friends, if not… something more. It shouldn’t be this hard. It had no _right_ being this hard.

Yet, here he was, hesitating before the door to Urahara Shoten, hands shaking from nerves and _what-ifs_.

( _what if Kisuke realized that Ichigo had lied to him? What if Kisuke decided Ichigo had rejected him? What if Kisuke **didn’t want Ichigo back**? What if Kisuke…_)

_“You should tell him the truth, Onii-chan”_

Ichigo knew Yuzu was right. Ichigo understood why even Karin had been pushing him into it, with exaggerated eye-rolls and little huffs and small smiles. He knew that he was… _in love_ , or some bullshit. He knew that… He knew that he _should_ tell Kisuke.

But he still had the right to be _afraid_ , okay? That didn’t make him a coward. It just made him human.

Yet, here he was — late evening, as usual, just after getting off his shift, with trembling and sweaty hands, and breath caught in his throat, and hope he doesn’t dare to hold on to.

Ichigo was going to tell Kisuke the truth.

Holy fuck, _Ichigo was going to tell Kisuke the truth_.

He swallowed hard, clenching his hands to focus on the here and now and _stop thinking shit_. With a last deep breath, he pushed the door open, distantly hearing the bells jingling when he did.

Most of his focus, though, was on the fact that _the shop wasn’t empty_.

What. Why?

He blinked slowly, looking at all of the occupants — Yuzu, leaning over the counter and laughing loudly about something; Karin at her elbow, pushing her head down and snickering softly; Kisuke, beautiful and sharp smiled, hands waving around excitedly; and… and the most beautiful woman Ichigo had ever seen, he realized with a grimace. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, leaning over Kisuke’s shoulder and pressing her boobs to Kisuke’s arm, long purple-ish hair falling like a curtain around them as she added something to Kisuke’s tale.

They… looked close. Very close. They looked… intimate. They looked…

He swallowed hard, and Kisuke looked up, grinning excitedly and waving him over.

“Kurosaki-san!” he greeted happily (and Ichigo didn’t feel a pang in his chest at the fact he called his sisters by name and still called him by the surname. He _didn’t_ ). “Welcome, welcome. It’s been a while! Thought you were busy with tests?”

 _Uh?_ Ah. He nodded slowly, remembering that that _had_ been what he’d last told Kisuke. Right…

“I see my sisters have taken over your shop,” he commented as normally as he could.

Kisuke chuckled, and it was only at Kisuke’s sharp glance that Ichigo knew to duck, avoiding Karin’s slap by inches.

“Yes, well, they are delightful to have around, so I suppose I can forgive you for bringing about an invasion,” Kisuke teased, eyes shining with mirth. “Anyway, I don’t think you’ve met Yoruichi?”

 _Yoruichi_. Ichigo knew of her, of course. She was one of the two persons Kisuke had ever talked about. Yoruichi was the one he clearly loved. Ichigo had thought it was all in the past, all platonic, but…

But looking at them, looking at the way Kisuke stared at her with fond eyes and an even fonder smile, the way Kisuke leaned into her touch and focused all his attention on _her_ , Ichigo wasn’t… as sure, anymore. Kisuke… clearly adored her. Ichigo wouldn’t be surprised if she’d hung the moon or something, with the way Kisuke was acting. She was his sole focus, and it was…

It was daunting.

“Hello,” purred Yoruichi, nodding at Ichigo when he looked back at her golden eyes. “I’m Shihoin Yoruichi, Kisuke-chan’s almost sister.”

 _Kisuke-chan_. Ichigo choked on air, blinking dazedly. _Kisuke-chan_. What the hell.

But… _sister_. That’d… that’d…

 _But, maybe, she was the only one who thought so_ , he thought bitterly, as Kisuke rolled his eyes and smiled at her, soft and open — and Kisuke should be smiling like that at _him_ , not at her, and he’s speaking before he even notices it, mouth working on autopilot as his brain escapes him.

“Pleasure to meet you. Sorry to barge in, though; I _am_ still in the middle of tests, and I need to go home study, but Dad asked me to stop by the grocery store in the way, and I thought that I should at least see if Yuzu wanted company on her walk back.” He shrugged, heart still frozen in time, and thoughts a mess of _stop-it, look-away, see- **me**_. “Since you’re talking, though…”

He was not disappointed. “Nah, I’ll stay a little longer,” she answered with a small smile, but he looked away quickly, seeing the way her teeth were actually clenched together, and the way her head was cocked just slightly to the side. He wasn’t in the mood to play charades; especially, though, he wasn’t in the mood to face a disappointed Yuzu, or to try and face _the truth_ , when Kisuke was…

“I’ll wait for her, don’t worry, Ichi-nii,” Karin promises, but her voice was also tight, and Ichigo…

Ichigo flees.

He wasn’t a coward, but, sometimes? He certainly _felt_ like one.

_(he’s still looking for his backbone, he realizes with a broken laugh)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Kisuke rubbed at his face, sighing quietly against his skin.

Things had been going _great_. After a year, Yoruichi was finally back from her impromptu travel to Europe (and he’s never forgiving her for just dumping the Shoten on him as a goddamn _gift_ and fleeing the _continent_ , asshole!), he now had real workers around the shop who _knew what to do_ , Tessai-san’s vacation was finally over, and…

And Ichigo was avoiding him.

It was two weeks since Ichigo last stepped a foot into the Shoten, and last time he _had_ come, he’d barely spent five minutes in the shop before _(fleeing)_ leaving again.

Kisuke… had missed him. Much more than he’d expected to.

He wasn’t _stupid_. He knew he liked Ichigo. He knew he could come to even _love_ Ichigo, as Yoruichi-san had asked him in the silence of the night, when they were lying side by side on the floor of his home, breath short from laughter and speaking too much.

But… he had also thought he’d be okay in just being _friends_ with Ichigo. Like he’d been okay being _just friends_ with Yoruichi-san, so long ago. And now, Ichigo was taking some time, and Kisuke longed for him like he’d never longed for Yoruichi-san. He _craved_ Ichigo’s presence. He missed Ichigo so much it was almost a physical pain. It was…

Stupid. Annoying. _Terrifying._

It made him feel alive.

Except, Ichigo was ignoring him, and Kisuke wasn’t even sure about _why_ , and here he was — _not brooding_ , despite what Yoruichi-san said. Just. Thinking. And leaving the shop in the (very capable, thank you very much, he’d trained her himself) hands of Yuzu-chan and Tessai-san.

He was just _thinking_. In silence. And alone. In his bedroom.

(Okay, _maybe_ he was brooding)

Of course, Yoruichi-san always had the greatest timing, and just as Kisuke grudgingly admitted to it, she appeared like magic, plopping down on the bed by his side.

“So.” She started, poking his cheek. “You done brooding?”

_For fuck’s sake, was this woman a witch?_ He smiled wryly, shaking his head.

“Not brooding,” he answered anyway, because it always made her grin, and he still loved her grin, loved the way she made him feel cherished. “But. Yes.”

“Good. Now we plan.” She nodded fiercely, dark hair pulled up in a ponytail, and golden eyes shining with mischief.

“Plan _what_?” he asked dreading her answer, even as he sat up with a small grin pulling on his lips.

“How to get your man back, of course!” She said with laugh in her voice. “When you first mentioned him, I thought it was just a passing fancy, you know.”

He grimaced. “I don’t _do_ passing fancies, Yoruichi-san,” he pointed out, and she nodded.

“Yeah, I know, but, well. One can hope. And you were always so… _intent_ on meeting your soulmate, I thought, well.” She shrugged.

He also understood it. He’d thought so, too, in the beginning. He didn’t do passing fancies, but he did flirt for no reason at all but to amuse himself. He was bad at relationships, always hoping for The One, but he’d had some… experiences, too. They’d both thought that Ichigo was just one of those experiences that just just grew more important than Kisuke had expected.

But… it wasn’t. Kisuke hadn’t even flirted with him all that much. Instead, they’d mostly… bantered. And talked. And _shared_. And still, Kisuke found himself completely entranced by Ichigo and his fierceness.

“Well. Like you said, a soulmate can be anything,” he said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. “But Ichigo… he’s _more_. He’s worth it. And, who knows. Maybe my soulmate _is_ a kid, and I’m meant to adopt him.” He teased, thinking of Tessai-san and _his_ children.

He took a deep breath, and added under it: “But I’d still been hoping he could be my soulmate. I’ve been… I’ve been _seeing_ it. Like, I’ve been seeing my scars on him, and I just. I imagine. Us. With matching scars. Us, sharing the tales behind each and every blemish, the story of each scrapped knee, the…” he derailed, thinking about, but unwilling to mention the marks of soulmate-bond. The runes for _One_ and _Forever_ , etched in their wrist and clavicle.

Yoruichi-san nodded anyway, a solemn look on her face.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She glanced down, and Kisuke looked down with her, getting a peek of the edge of her tattoo, blossoming around her middle like a taboo thing, and Kisuke remembered that. Remembered her decision to break the rules and _do something_ , even if it meant offending her then-unknown soulmate. Remembered her fierceness and focus as she held her ground and forced someone to mark her up, even without previous knowledge of her other half. Kisuke remembered that, and knew she _did_ understand, because she’d done it as an act of rebellion as much as an attempt to bond them together, he knew.

(He hoped her Soi-Fon appreciated it. He knew Yoruichi-san loved it, loved the way the flowers blossomed into stars and faded in the night, and he’d always respected her for it. So, yeah, if one wanted to be with Yoruichi-san, they should appreciate her in all she was. Including her one-sided decisions and terrible habits.)

She gathered herself visibly, and smiled up at him. “But, you know that’s not required, right? If you love each other… then, it doesn’t matter, if you’re soulmates. You can be something special, even without fate saying so. You can be even _more_ special, really, some would say. And… you’re clearly dear for each other.”

Kisuke smiled wryly, looking down at his hands, and thinking of tanned ones under his. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

He sighed. “I just wish Ichigo could see it too.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, leaning into each other and just thinking — Yoruichi-san probably plotting, the devious minx she was, and Kisuke trying not to fret over things that weren’t meant to be —, when the silence was broken by a shy cough even as he saw Yoruichi-san’s start leaning in.

“So…” Yuzu-chan murmured, blushing as Kisuke looked at her standing unexpectedly in the doorway, and _how did she even get here_ , but also grinning wickedly like it was a weapon. “I have an idea.”

**.**

Kisuke looked around curiously, walking slowly to an empty table by the end of the Café, the area Yuzu-chan had said was Ichigo’s serving area.

Kisuke realized he’d never come to this coffee shop before, despite the fact they _were_ more or less neighbors. It was a block away from the Shoten, but whenever Kisuke wanted coffee, he always went to the one downtown, the one Yoruichi-san had first introduced to him.

It was… strange, thinking that Kisuke might have met Ichigo earlier, if only he’d just changed the place where he bought his coffee.

He shook his head slowly, a wry smile on his face, as he lowered himself to the chair. He took the menu on the table to peruse, knowing he should at least _try_ to have something, even if his stomach felt like a big mess of knots right now.

He was just reading the options of sweets (they should buy them from him. Maybe he and Ichigo could talk with the Café’s owner, at some point. Kisuke could make them a good deal, since Ichigo worked here), when someone finally came to take his order.

Kisuke looked up, hoping to find bright carrot-orange hair and brown eyes turned into a frown. He wasn’t disappointed.

“U…Urahara-san?!” Ichigo spluttered, frowning harder. “What are you _doing_ here?”

Kisuke smiled and raised the menu. “Why, I thought I’d grab myself a coffee. Isn’t this a Café, Kurosaki-san?”

Ichigo continued to gape for a moment more, before shaking his head and muttering something Kisuke couldn’t understand, and nodding slowly.

“Of course. So, what will you have?” He asked with forced professionalism, and Kisuke had to applaud him for it. It was almost convincing.

Kisuke smirked, leaning forwards and deciding to test it. “Well, is the waiter an option?”

Ichigo blushed the _most perfect_ shade of red, right to the roots of his hair, and Kisuke grinned broadly, delighted in having got such a response from Ichigo.

Then, of course, Ichigo scowled, and put a hand on his hip, all annoyance and burning temper, and answered in a dry voice: “I have a cop on my fast dial, and I am not afraid of giving him a call.”

It took him by such a surprise that Kisuke barked out a laugh before he could even try to hide it, so _relieved_ that Ichigo was at least still willing to banter with him.

“Well, if _that’s_ out of question, then I guess I’ll have a mochaccino,” he offered with an exaggerated put-upon face.

Ichigo rolled his eyes hard, and noted it down. Adding, under his breath, a comment about, “And a bagel, because you never eat _anything_.” Which Kisuke supposed he could allow.

When Ichigo left, Kisuke spent maybe a bit longer than he’d like to admit just staring at Ichigo’s retreating back (those pants fell very nicely on him), before rubbing at his lips.

Kisuke… had taken the initiative. But, he hoped it wouldn’t be just this. He was glad to see that Ichigo was at least willing to be his _friend_ , but… the way he’d blushed at Kisuke’s (admittedly bad) flirting, and the way he hadn’t _completely_ shut him out… It gave Kisuke hope.

When Ichigo came back with his moccachino, Kisuke didn’t take much of his time, thanking him and saying a simple, “I’ve missed you,” before asking him to stop by on his break, because he’d be waiting.

He _would_ be waiting. Kisuke had decided, before stepping a foot here, that he’d wait for Ichigo, no matter what. That Ichigo _was_ worth it. That…

He breathed deeply, sipping at his drink slowly once again, and trying not to think of what he wanted to do with Ichigo, lest he build up hopes that would be crushed.

(He still couldn’t keep himself from dreaming of warm skin and brilliant grins, hard as he tried)

What could have been minutes or hours later (Kisuke had always considered himself a patient man, but this had turned out to be a particular method of torture not even he was prepared for), Ichigo finally stopped by.

“Please,” he nodded to the seat on the other side of his table, staring at Ichigo with his best puppy-eyes.

Ichigo caved not long into it. Kisuke hid a smirk behind his mostly empty cup, and sent a silent thanks to Yuzu-chan, for teaching him that.

“So, really, what _are_ you doing here? You’ve never been by, before. How did you even know the place?” Ichigo asked with a small frown.

Kisuke grinned, and answered with his best nonchalant voice, “Why, Kurosaki-san, we _are_ neighbors!”

Ichigo kept staring at him, clearly unimpressed, and Kisuke allowed: “Okay, and perhaps I wanted to see you.”

Ichigo sighed, but Kisuke was glad to see he also blushed, just slightly. “And the shop? Did you just leave it empty?”

“Nah,” he shrugged with a grin. “Yuzu-chan is manning the kitchen with Karin-chan’s help, and Tessai-san and Yoruichi-san are manning the front.”

Ichigo stopped so completely, that Kisuke feared he wasn’t even breathing.

“You left Yuzu in charge of the kitchen.” He said after a few moments, staring at Kisuke as if _Kisuke_ were crazy.

Kisuke grinned even broader. “Yes. She’s been doing it for the past week and a half, really. You missed so many opportunities to tease her for all her mistakes.” He pointed out, thinking of burnt cookies and hard cakes. “It was quite adorable, actually.”

It was just because he’d been watching for it that he could see how Ichigo flinched slightly before softening, looking down with a small smile and nodding. “I’d like to have seen it…”

Kisuke sighed, leaning forward to touch a hand to Ichigo’s wrist. “You still can, Ichigo-san,” he said, taking a risk. “If you just came back. Yuzu-chan is still baking every day, and Karin-chan still stops by every other day, and your place is still open, and I’d love to see you again. I once offered you a job as a joke, but I’d love seeing you _every day_ , if you’d let me. We missed you around the Shoten. _I_ missed you.”

Unless Kisuke had lost his touch, that — that light he saw in Ichigo’s eyes — was hope.

And he could work with hope.

(Even if he just wanted to reach over the table, pull Ichigo closer and _kiss him senseless_ )

“I… I’ll come back,” Ichigo murmured, voice thick and heavy. “I swear. I just. I thought you’d… like some time… with your sister.”

Kisuke blinked slowly, cocking his head to the side. “Yoruichi-san? Well, yeah, she’s my best friend, but it doesn’t mean I wanted you away? And, well, we’ve realized at some point in our relationship… probably when she almost got me locked in jail for one of her stunts… that we work better with a great amount of breaks between our interactions. Or with someone else acting as buffer.”

The way Ichigo blushed and ducked his head, muttering under his breath, made Kisuke stop short.

Wait.

“Were you jealous, Ichigo-san?” he asked, wondering.

Ichigo’s reaction was golden, and Kisuke felt his heart fill with so much hope it would burst at the nearest opportunity.

“I need to go!” Ichigo snapped, rising from his seat rushedly.

Kisuke smiled and took his wrist. “Please, Ichigo-san. Come back to me?”

Ichigo looked down, and nodded slightly. “Yeah.”

Kisuke felt good enough to let himself leave.

**.**

After Kisuke's ambush, things went back to normal. The Shoten continued to prosper (and Kisuke was still half amazed and half dreading its ever growing family. He loved them to death, of course, but the fear it would all fall down…), Kisuke now had more time to bake and less headaches from dealing with costumers, what with Yuzu-chan learning baking from him and Tessai-san back to work; Yoruichi-san continued being a damn minx, and Ichigo-san was back.

To being his _friend_.

Which would have been _fine_ — had Ichigo-san _rejected_ him, that is. But with all the mixed signals floating around, Kisuke found himself growingly frustrated with things as they were.

He'd held to hope with such force that he refused to let it go for a mere dismissal. Kisuke had finally decided to take a chance — and take a chance he would, even if it ended up with a broken heart.

As soon as he knew how, at least.

But, as Yoruichi-san said: "best approach with the Kurosaki boy is the direct one." (Yuzu-chan had laughed herself silly at that one, and Kisuke had hidden a smile the whole time. Yoruichi-san only knew Ichigo-san for such a short time, yet, she already had him down to a pat. Oh boy. He’d be _pissed_ , Kisuke thought fondly). Which led Kisuke to Ichigo-san's work yet again, at Yuzu-chan’s pointed smiles and Yoruichi-san’s insistence.

Standing around in the late evening, hands deep into his pockets and itching for something to do to will away these last few minutes, Kisuke realized that his famed patience wasn't as infallible as he'd always thought, after all.

Standing around _waiting_ ate away at his nerves like nothing else. He had so much time to doubt himself, to second think everything, to regret the choice of even _coming_ here… The silence and emptiness around him offered fuel to his self-doubt, and he suddenly had so many _what-ifs_ and _he’s better without you_ floating around his mind it physically hurt.

But he stayed anyway, holding on the wisps of courage he'd never thought he had. He stayed, and clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the voices inside telling him this was all doomed from the start, and _waited_ , despite the way his heart skipped in his chest when he saw Ichigo-san moving inside the Café.

Seeing Ichigo-san at work, watching him cleaning and closing up, was a strangely relaxing thing, he noticed. Even with his heart beating twice as fast as recommended, and his throat closed up with everything he wanted to say, Kisuke found himself grounded. Calm. He was nervous, full of emotions and doubts — but also void of fear, for once in his life, and faintly determined, and he prepared himself to speak as he saw Ichigo-san handle the last glass on the last table to clean. Just this one more, and he'd come out. Just this one more, and they'd talk.

Kisuke realized he was okay with it, whatever fate awaited him. Even if he was rejected, he at least could hold to the comfort of having _tried_ , and Kisuke finally understood what Yoruichi-san had always told him: waiting for his soulmate was all well and good, but by doing so, he was losing so many chances to _try and be happy_.

And this… this was one of them. This was Kisuke’s best chance to _try and be happy_ ; this rude man who didn’t care about soulmates one way or another, who frowned and smiled with the same ease, who _cared_ so much he worked himself up over a simple request. Kurosaki Ichigo was his best chance, and Kisuke realized he wouldn’t have it any other way.

So he smiled, leaning forward to reach for the door handle (and who cared that Ichigo wasn’t done yet. Maybe they'd excuse him if he interrupted and stole away one of their employees. It was closing time, after all, and everything was already mostly put away, anyway), when he saw the glass in Ichigo's hands fall to the ground.

He winced reflexively, and stepped closer — they wouldn't refuse help, would they? Kisuke knew he never refused —, when Ichigo reached down and, in a moment of uncommon clumsiness, managed to get himself cut on the glass shards on the ground.

Were Kisuke not looking so intently at him, he'd never have realized, but — there it was. Ichigo's hand, flinching back reflexively, finger coated in red. And Kisuke winced.

… He blinked slowly. Looked down.

It must be wishful thinking, after all. Just like he’d wishfully thought about those scars on Ichigo’s hands. Just like he’d thought about the edges of ink marks on his skin and always wondered what his soulmate did that required so much writing (and then found out Ichigo was a med student and thought, _yeah, that’d fit_ …). It was _all wishful thinking_.

Except, there, right on his pointer-finger of his right hand (a hand he had much less scars and where any stray one always stood out. A hand he barely scarred, because he always did anything with his _left_ hand first, and Yoruichi-san had always teased him for it, saying he should just look for a right-handed person with scars on their left hand, after all): a cut. A bloody-red cut, fresh and clean.

And he'd just felt the sting.

He looked up again, and for once he was thankful that Ichigo wasn't giving him his whole attention, because… Because he just couldn't _think_. He couldn't…

His breath was falling short, the sound of it much too loud and irregular in the quiet of the street, and Kisuke stumbled back, clenching his eyes closed forcefully.

He raised his right hand to his lips almost unaware, biting softly over his new scar, and flinched hard when he didn't feel any pulling as he _should have_ if it had been one of _his_ own cuts, however it might have been produced.

This was… A bleeding through. A mark of someone else.

He choked out a laugh that sounded terribly like a sob.

It seemed like he'd found his soulmate, after all.

**.**

Kisuke knew he’d been rude, pushing Yoruichi-san off and out when he got home, but he just couldn’t deal with it, not right now. He needed space, he needed quiet, he needed to _think_.

He paced around his bedroom unquiet, hands trembling as he worked one through his hair with growing unrest. Shit, shit, _shit_.

He’d found his soulmate. And… and it was _Ichigo_.

He laughed again, just as brokenly as before, and he still didn’t know if it was actually a laugh or a sob that wouldn’t come out.

It was _Kurosaki Ichigo_ , and this should be a fucking dream come true — because this was _everything Kisuke had ever wanted_ —, but… but this was Ichigo. Who had held Kisuke’s burnt hand in his _in their very first meeting_ , who’d treated to his wound as an apology, who’d always flinched back from Kisuke’s touches, and…

And who’d kept quiet. For three whole months, he’d kept quiet.

This was every single dream Kisuke had held come true — but maybe this was all a giant nightmare, for Ichigo. After all, Ichigo’d told him, in one of their conversations, about how he didn’t like soulmates. About how he hated the idea of Fate.

Maybe… maybe Ichigo had decided that this meant Kisuke wasn’t for him, then. Since _something else_ had marked them. Maybe Ichigo’s hatred had run so deep he’d…

But — Kisuke hoped, flittingly. But he’d also _kept coming_. He’d known from the very beginning that Kisuke was his unwanted soulmate, yet he… he kept coming to the Shoten. He kept coming _to Kisuke_. He was against soulmates, but he’d… he’d become Kisuke’s friend all on his own. He’d offered Kisuke everything he’d never known he wanted for no reason at all but… but his own choice.

And maybe Ichigo didn’t like the idea of being intimate with his soulmate, but… but Kisuke could at least _hope_ , couldn’t he? Because Ichigo _had been_ there. Ichigo had been there _for him_. And Ichigo… Ichigo had seen him through his lowest and his best, and he hadn’t run away yet. He’d held on, silent and comforting, even when Kisuke had broken down from loneliness, from missing Yoruichi-san like an ache. Ichigo had offered him his life and opened the doors to his family, and had allowed Kisuke to treat them as his own, knowing Kisuke didn’t have much he held precious. Ichigo had… Ichigo had been there. Through thick and thin. He’d been there, sharing stories and loneliness, talking about nothing and everything at all, and maybe… and maybe Ichigo didn’t like soulmates, but _he’d reached out_.

And Kisuke could hold on to hope, if nothing else.

He breathed shakily, rubbing a hand over his lips as he swallowed a broken hiccough.

He hated this fragility wreaking havoc inside, hated how he loved Ichigo so much he’d been ready to give up on his soulmate just to discover he’d had him in his reach this whole time. He hated that he loved Ichigo so much he could even agree with the cunning of the plan, of growing to love without knowing about their bond.

He hated it all…

But he was _hopeful_.

(And he hated that even more, if he were honest with himself)

“There’s only one way to find out,” he murmured, needing to hear a voice to push him all the way into his decision.

Because he had hope, and unless he acted on it now, he knew he’d just leave it to dwindle and fade, and then he’d _run_. And he didn’t want to run. Not anymore.

So he grabbed the sharpie he’d left by his bedside table for the very same reason he planned on using now — for a hope long-forgotten of reaching out to his soulmate; one which he’d started to act many times, but always gave up on, too afraid of the possible answer —, and positioned the tip against the back of his right hand.

_Go big or go home_ , they say.

_‘So. Any chances I can take the waiter home now?’_

He held his breath, and hoped it would be enough. Hoped Ichigo would recognize the words spoken in jest last time he’d gone to Ichigo’s work. Hoped…

Not three minutes later, his phone rang. He took a deep breath, and took the call.

_“Kisuke-san, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hide it for so long, I just…”_ Ichigo whispered quickly on the other side, words jumbled together and broken as his voice trembled and gritted out as if unwillingly.

Kisuke smiled into the receiver, knowing there was no one here to see the jaded edges and the pain in his eyes, and he murmured back, softly. “I forgive you.”

_“I’m so fucking sorry,”_ Ichigo muttered once more, anyway. _“Please. I don’t…”_

Everything in him screamed — half of him saying, _disconnect the call, go away_ , the other half saying, _this is your chance, tell him_. And Kisuke took his chance.

“I get it. Well, you’ll be pleased to know there was no fate involved in my loving you, Ichigo-san.” He answered dryly, even as his heart seized and stopped, awaiting an answer that could still be a negative.

He breathed out slowly, smiling shakily. _“Thank you,”_ Ichigo whispered first. Then, _“And I you.”_

It wasn’t the perfect answer. It wasn’t the most ideal situation. They still had so much to work through, and Kisuke still stung from the silence, but…

But maybe it was best this way. Perhaps it was not meant to be — but they _made it be_ , anyway.

“Lunch on Sunday?”

_“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”_

And he smiled at himself. Things were shitty right now, but he had a feeling they would be fine, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I have _so many_ background stories and headcanons to this story that I didn't manage to put into the main story. Like, really. Ask EVIA. She was my beta-ish reader (she didn't actually correct anything, but I still used her as a sound board, and she read everything before I finished and decided to post it), and I asked her opinion every other time, and it's... ridiculous. Really.  
> Like, some of them, for those interested:  
> a) So, yeah, Ichigo used to have a crush on Rukia back when they were teenagers, but Rukia has always talked about "meeting her soulmate", so he let her go. In the end, she ends up with Renji, who is _not_ her soulmate.  
> b) Inoue and Ishida are soulmates, and Inoue always dreamt of her soulmate, but she still had a crush on Ichigo when they were younger.  
> c) Masaki only died when Ichigo was 15 or so. She had a heart condition, and after she got sick, she had a heart attack, and that was it. Isshin works as a cop, and Ichigo decided to become a doctor to "fix shit like that".  
> d) Yoruichi is rich, and a model, and decided to give Kisuke a bakery as a birthday gift. And then skip town. It was more or less like this, "Here, Kisuke-chan, you always dreamt of a bakery. Give it a good name, because I want to be able to visit it when I'm back!" and proceeded to run off to England. Kisuke was not amused.  
> e) Ichigo is 22, and Kisuke is more or less... 30-something (I never actually decided how old he was).
> 
> And, if Lyv manages to convince me (or I manage to convince her), you'll still get a special of Yoruichi and Soi-Fon. Because I wrote their damn story, and never used it. Yay.
> 
> Anyway, hope you've liked it! Please, leave comments on the way out?  
> (The other chapters should be coming soon, in case someone sees this before it's complete)


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